‘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.