The Song of Troy

‘Yes, I see,’ I said, mouth dry.

‘Something,’ said Deiphobos slowly. ‘An animal?’

Others were pointing at it, debating its nature; then the sun slanted onto it and glanced off a brown, polished surface.

‘I’m going to see,’ I said, making for the guardroom door. ‘Captain, order the Skaian Gate opened, but don’t let the people go outside. I’ll take Deiphobos and examine it myself.’

Oh, the feeling of that wind, cold though it was! Driving across the plain was a panacea for everything that ailed me. I told the driver to follow the road, so we bumped and jolted over the cobbles. A smoother ride than of yore. The ceaseless progress of men and chariots had worn the stones evenly and the fissures between were filled in with powdery dust gone hard in the autumn rains.

Of course we had all understood what the object was, but none of us could credit that we saw aright. What was it doing there? What could its purpose be? Surely it wasn’t what we thought! On closer view it must turn out to be something far stranger, far different. Yet when Deiphobos and I approached, some of the Court trailing in our wake, it was indeed what it had seemed to be. A gigantic wooden horse.

It towered far above our heads, an oak-brown creature of huge proportions. Whoever had made it, Gods or men, had adhered strictly enough to equine anatomy to define it as a horse rather than a mule or a donkey, but the body was on such a scale that it was mounted on thicker legs than any horse ever owned, with mammoth hooves bolted to a table of logs. This platform was raised clear of the ground by small, solid wheels – twelve on either side at the front and the back. My car lay in the shadow of its head, and I had to crane my neck to see the underside of its jaws above me. Made of polished wood, it was both stout and sturdy, the joins between the planks sealed with pitch in the ma

A full detachment of the Royal Guard had galloped up, together with most of the Court.

‘It must be hollow, Father,’ Deiphobos said, ‘to be light enough to rest on the table without the wheels collapsing.’

I pointed to the creature’s rump on our side. ‘It’s sacred. See? An owl, a serpent’s head, an aegis and a spear. It belongs to Pallas Athene.’

Some of the others looked doubtful; Deiphobos and Kapys muttered, but another son of mine, Thymoites, became excited.

‘Father, you’re right! The symbols speak more eloquently than a tongue. It’s a gift from the Greeks to replace the Palladion.’

Apollo’s chief priest, Lakoon, growled in his throat. ‘Beware the Greeks when they bear gifts,’ he said.

Kapys leaped into the fray. ‘Father! It’s a trap! Why would Pallas Athene extract such backbreaking labour from the Greeks? She loves the Greeks! If she hadn’t consented to the theft of her Palladion, the Greeks couldn’t have stolen it! She would never transfer her allegiance from the Greeks to us! It’s a trap!’

‘Control yourself, Kapys,’ I said, distracted.

‘Sire, I beg you!’ he persisted. ‘Break open its belly and see what it contains!’

‘Have nothing to do with gifts from the Greeks,’ said Lakoon, an arm about each of his two young sons. ‘It’s a trap.’

‘I agree with Thymoites,’ I said. ‘It’s meant to replace the Palladion.’ I glared at Kapys. ‘Enough, do you hear?’

‘At any rate,’ said Deiphobos practically, ‘it wasn’t intended to be brought inside our walls. It’s too tall to fit through the gates. No, whatever its purpose, it can’t be a trick. It’s meant to remain here in this spot, of no danger to us or anyone else.’

‘It is a trick!’ cried Kapys and Lakoon, almost in unison.

The argument continued to rage as more and more of Troy’s important people congregated about the amazing horse to wonder and theorise and inundate me with their opinions. To get away from them I drove round and round it, examining it minutely, plumbing the meaning of the symbols, marvelling at the quality of the workmanship. It stood exactly halfway between the beach and the city. But where had it come from? If the Greeks had built it, we would have seen it rise. It must be from the Goddess, it must!

Lakoon had sent some of the Royal Guard into the Greek camp to inspect it; I was still driving round and round when two guardsmen appeared in a four-wheeled car, a man between them. They dismounted at my side and helped him down.

His arms and legs were in chains, his clothing was reduced to tatters, his hair and person were filthy.

The senior guardsman knelt. ‘Sire, we found this fellow skulking inside one of the Greek houses. He was as you see him now, in chains. He’s been very recently flogged, see? When we took hold of him, he begged for his life and asked to be taken to the King of Troy to impart his news.’

‘Speak, fellow. I am the King of Troy,’ I said.

The man licked his lips, croaked, couldn’t find a voice. A guardsman gave him water; he drank thirstily, then saluted me.

‘Thank you for your kindness, sire,’ he said.

‘Who are you?’ Deiphobos asked.

‘My name is Sinon. I’m an Argive Greek, a baron at the Court of King Diomedes, whose cousin I am. But I served with a special unit of troops the High King of Mykenai delegated for the exclusive use of King Odysseus of the Out Islands.’ He reeled, had to be held up by the guardsmen.

I got down. ‘Soldier, sit him on the edge of your car and I’ll sit beside him.’

But someone found me a stool, so I sat opposite him. ‘Is that better, Sinon?’

‘Thank you, sire, I have the strength to continue.’

‘Why should an Argive baron be flogged and chained?’

‘Because, sire, I was privy to the plot Odysseus hatched to be rid of King Palamedes. Apparently Palamedes had injured Odysseus in some way just before our expedition to Troy began. It’s said of Odysseus that he can wait a lifetime for the perfect opportunity to be revenged. In the case of Palamedes, he waited a mere eight years. Two years ago Palamedes was executed for high treason. Odysseus engineered the charges and manufactured the proof which damned Palamedes.’

I frowned. ‘Why should one Greek conspire to effect the death of another? Were they neighbours, rivals for territory?’

‘No, sire. One rules islands to the west of the Isle of Pelops, the other an important seaport on the east coast. It was a grudge, over what I don’t know.’

‘I see. Why then are you here in this predicament? If Odysseus could engineer treason charges against one Greek king, why didn’t he do the same to you, a mere baron?’

‘I’m the first cousin of a more powerful king, sire, one whom Odysseus loves greatly. Besides, I told my story to a priest of Zeus. As long as I lived unscathed, the priest was to say nothing. If I died, no matter from what cause, the priest was to come forward. As Odysseus didn’t know which priest, I thought myself safe.’

‘I take it that the priest never told the story because you aren’t dead?’ I asked.

‘No, sire, nothing like that,’ said Sinon, sipping more water and looking a little less wretched. ‘Time went on, Odysseus said and did nothing, and – well, sire, I simply forgot about it! But of late moons the army has become very discouraged. After Achilles and Ajax died, Agamemnon abandoned hope of ever entering Troy. So a council was held and a vote taken. They would go home to Greece.’

‘But this council must have happened in midsummer!’

‘Yes, sire. But the fleet couldn’t sail because the omens were inauspicious. The high priest, Talthybios, finally gave the answer. Pallas Athene was causing the contrary winds to blow. She hardened her heart against us after her Palladion was stolen. She demanded reparation. Then Apollo declared his anger too. He wanted a human sacrifice. Me! By name! Nor could I find the priest in whom I had confided. Odysseus had sent him on a mission to Lesbos. So when I told my story, no one believed it.’