‘We can hardly turn around and get back in the ships now,’ Eperitus answered. ‘We’ll just have to climb the walls and see what’s inside.’
Odysseus smiled back at him. ‘You’re right, of course, and we might as well enjoy ourselves while we’re at it. Give the order.’
Eperitus turned on his heel and looked at the expectant faces of the Ithacan soldiers.
‘Shields ready. Pick up the ladders.’
Similar orders were barked out up and down the Greek lines, followed by a flurry of movement as shields were taken up, ladders lifted and spears readied. Achilles received his spear and shield from two of his men and moved to the head of the Myrmidon army. Raising the spear above his head, he pointed it towards the line of hills. There was a great cheer from the whole Greek assembly and the Myrmidons began to move.
Eperitus instinctively kissed his fingertips and placed them against the image of a white deer on the inside of his shield. He had painted it there to remind him of his daughter, Iphigenia, and though it was grimed and faded where he had repeatedly touched it for luck he felt reassured by its presence. Odysseus discreetly touched the image of Athena painted on the inside of his own shield, then, after a glance at Eperitus, turned to the ranks of Ithacans and waved them forward.
The long lines of warriors advanced with a steady tramp, the Myrmidons, Ithacans and Argives in the lead with the Locrians forming a wide arc behind them. At first the bronze of their helmets and shield bosses shone fiercely in the sunlight, but as they marched slowly up the hillside the dust raised by their thousands of feet shrouded them in a brown cloud that dulled the glimmer of their weaponry. Soon they were topping the crest of the ridge and looking out over a fertile, lightly wooded plain, dominated by a low hill at its centre. On top of the hill was a walled city, its sand-coloured battlements no higher than the scattering of windswept olive trees that surrounded it. A few two-storeyed buildings stood up above the level of the weathered parapets, but the only tower was at the southern end of the fortifications, guarding an arched gateway from which a narrow track wound down to the level of the plain. Here it met the main route from the city of Troy to its southern provinces, but as the ten thousand Greeks filed out across the western edge of the plateau, not a single traveller could be seen up or down the length of the road.
A handful of sentinels stared silently out from behind the walls of Lyrnessus and a low horn call vibrated out across the plain to greet the newcomers, but no reinforcements hastened to join their colleagues on the battlements. Instead, the sombre noise was followed by a silence, which was quickly devoured by the clanking of the Greek army as it spread across the plain like pitch spilled from a bucket, file after file marching relentlessly towards their objective. Soon the soldiers of Argos and Ithaca were in place at the western foot of the hill, a bowshot from the walls, while the Myrmidons straddled the road to the south, facing the gate. The Locrian archers formed a wide crescent behind them, where they began standing their arrows point-down in the grass, ready to be fitted to their bowstrings and fired at any enemy that dared show themselves above the parapets. As the dust cloud the Greek host had raised was carried forward on a gentle breeze to veil the walls of Lyrnessus, Odysseus looked left to where Diomedes stood at the head of his Argives. Diomedes raised his arm and nodded. In response, Odysseus looked right to Achilles and raised his own arm.
‘Ladders at the ready,’ Eperitus called out behind him, all the time keeping his eyes on the distant, golden-haired figure of Achilles.
Achilles dismounted and gave the reins to one of his men, who in return handed him a bright helmet with a black plume and a visor shaped in the likeness of a grimacing face. Achilles was the only warrior who wore such a helmet, designed not for additional protection but to distinguish him on the battlefield, his reputation being such that the mere sight of the helmet filled his opponents with terror. As the soldier led the prince’s horse away, Achilles put the helmet on his head and lowered the hinged visor into place, while Patroclus stood before him and tied the leather thongs beneath his chin. With all eyes watching him, Achilles took up his shield and raised his huge spear above his head. A moment later, the point fell and the Greeks gave a great shout, their voices rebounding from the city walls.
Chapter Two
STORMING THE WALLS
Odysseus did not cheer. Gritting his teeth behind sealed lips, he waved the Ithacan ladder parties forward. The scrambling of leather sandals on hard earth was followed by the sharp smell of sweat and the sound of cursing as the men ran past him, dashing quickly up the long, stony slope towards Lyrnessus. At their head were the groups led by Antiphus and Polites, the former with his bow slung across his back and the latter striding forward as if he would smash down the walls with his bare fists.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Odysseus said in a low voice as he watched the advance on the walls. ‘There’s not one man on the battlements. Even the soldiers we saw earlier have gone.’
‘They’ve probably thrown away their armour and are cowering in a temple somewhere, hoping their gods will protect them,’ Eperitus replied.
Odysseus shook his head. ‘If we’ve learned anything from this war, it’s that Trojans aren’t cowards. Some of them should be up there at least, trying to save their families from slavery or death. I think they’re not on the walls for a reason – either they’re expecting help from outside, or they’ve a better defence than we’re guessing. Eperitus, go and warn Ajax to keep a close eye on those hills to the north; I’m going to take the army closer in to the walls before—’
At that moment, as the ladder parties were nearing the ditch, a man climbed up on to the battlements and looked down in haughty defiance at the crawling mass of Greeks before the city. That his dark eyes and large, hooked nose belonged to Trojan nobility – if not royalty – was beyond doubt, and every Greek who looked up at his bearded face sensed that his appearance meant an end to their hopes of an easy victory. The man was tall and strong with enormous shoulders and huge fists that hung at his sides, big enough to kill a man with a single punch. As if to prove the point, though he wore a splendid breastplate of bronze scales and a massive helmet with a green plume, he carried no weapon. Instead, he raised a palm towards the advancing foes and called out in a loud voice:
‘Enemies of Troy, go back to your ships. Nothing but death awaits you here. Go back to your ships and sail home to Greece, before the vengeance of Apollo falls upon you. King Sarpedon of the Lycians has spoken.’
‘Told you,’ Odysseus said, arching his eyebrows knowingly at Eperitus. ‘The whole city must be filled with Lycians, just waiting for us to come and throw ourselves on to their spears. Aeneas is in there too, don’t forget, and I’ll stake my kingdom there’s a host of Dardanians with him.’
‘Then Hector must have guessed we’d try to take Lyrnessus,’ Eperitus said, watching the men with the ladders, who had halted their advance and were looking up at the walls as if death would sweep down on them from the battlements at any moment. ‘Either that or the information that the garrison had been stripped was false and we’ve been lured into a trap.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve outwitted us,’ Odysseus replied. ‘And yet our spies told us Aeneas was inside Troy only the day before yesterday. If that’s true then he was sent here on purpose – and that means Hector must have known we were coming.’