Hawking was packed. All of St Mary’s hung over the gantry or waited behind the line. The Boss wished us luck. We stepped inside.
The coordinates were all laid in. I took the left-hand seat. Leon seated himself alongside. Guthrie checked his weapons and waited. Leon ran his eyes over the console and nodded.
This was it.
I said, ‘Computer, initiate jump.’
And the world went white.
We were set to land about a mile from the city. And we did. Not in a swamp. Or at the bottom of the river. Or two miles out to sea. We were exactly where the Pathfinders had intended us to be. Excellent work.
Leon shut things down while Guthrie checked the screen. I preferred to get my first view from outside. I swung a faded woollen cloak around my shoulders, shouldered a wicker basket, and waited by the door. Farrell and Guthrie both carried stout sticks and, in Guthrie’s case, any amount of hidden weaponry.
‘All set?’
They nodded.
‘Door.’
They let me go first, which was wise of them. They must have guessed I’d have trampled both of them into the dirt in my haste to get outside and see …
We’d landed near a small copse, on the western bank of the Scamander. I turned slowly, keeping Troy for last. To the west, the Aegean glinted, bright in the sunshine, and a forest of masts dipped and swayed with the breaking waves. The harbour was on the western coast with direct access to the sea. Turning back to the north, I could see that the sheltered bay, which must have seemed such a benefit to the city many years ago, was badly silted. Small boats weaved their way up and down the narrow channels, but nothing big could ever get that far inland now.
Well-defined cart tracks led from the cluster of haphazard buildings around the harbour, across the dust plain to the ford. We could cross there too and then it was just a hop, skip, and a jump to the city.
To Troy.
I took a deep breath and lifted my eyes.
Troy stood about a mile away, although the heat haze made it difficult to judge distances accurately. Rising from the flat plain around it, the city dominated the entire area – the Troad, the Aegean, and access to the Black Sea. Standing foursquare on the plain, it made the statement. Fear me, for I am Troy. I am mighty and powerful, and you are as dirt beneath my feet. Just as it had been designed to do.
And it was so much bigger than I expected. The extent of the lower city was far greater than modern-day archaeology had suggested. Estimates had put the population between five and ten thousand. I put it at ten thousand and possibly more. And although I could see defensive ditches and fences, the lines of the city had blurred to some extent. Small clusters of buildings dotted the plain. Patches of cultivated land nestled between olive groves and small areas of woodland. I saw fields and livestock, especially horses.
From where we were standing I could see streams of people moving along the tracks, dragging carts or driving livestock. Traffic moved both ways, in and out. This was good news. We could join this stream of humanity and not be noticed.
We’d stood long enough. Guthrie went first, with Leon. I followed along behind with the basket. In my experience, the only time women get to go first is when walking through a minefield.
Heads down, we joined the trail of people streaming towards the South Gate. In front of us an elderly woman and a young boy drove three goats who had their own ideas about forward progress. We sidestepped them and tucked ourselves in behind a family group, purpose unknown.
This was the Bronze Age. There would be no papers for us to show. I ran through my carefully prepared Luwian words and phrases. Not that I would be called upon to speak, but, in an emergency, I could stand behind Guthrie and mutter the words he needed. It might not matter. Language in those days was a very local affair and it was perfectly possible that someone living as little as ten miles up the road would speak a very different dialect. Possibly a completely different language altogether. If all our attempts at communication failed, we would revert to Plan B – looking stupid. For some reason, that never fails for St Mary’s.
We approached the South Gate – the city’s first line of defence from the south. If archaeologists had guessed right over the years, there should be a primary ditch and wall with one gate. Enter through that and we would find ourselves in an area dominated by warehouses and storage for goods on their way to and from the harbour. Passing through this we would have a choice of two gates cut into the outer walls and from there into the lower part of the city itself.
Here goes.