I could see Ian had a firm grip on his staff, the other casually resting on his belt from where he could get to his stun gun. This part of the mission was under his control and his instructions were clear. ‘In the event of trouble, I’ll cover your escape. You and Farrell get away and meet me later at the pod. Understood?’
I did understand but we all knew the possibility of us leaving him to cover our escape, alone against ten thousand Trojans, was never going to happen. I sent a quick request to the god of historians that we wouldn’t ever have to put it to the test. Apparently that notoriously bubble-headed deity was on the job today, because none of the guards even looked at us. Nor in my basket. In fact, they couldn’t even be bothered to emerge from the vine-covered shelter, in which they were lounging, into the hot sunshine to check people over. Finally, we stepped through the second gate, the people ahead of us melted away and we were inside Troy.
We were inside Troy!
As per standard operating procedure, we drew aside, standing in a doorway, while the foot traffic flowed past us and we could get our bearings.
It wasn’t my first experience of Mediterranean life lived outdoors and I know I’d put the population at about ten thousand, but for one moment I really got the impression that all ten thousand of them were here in this street with us.
Everything happened outside. Narrow streets were made even more so by old women squatting on their heels, holding up goods for sale. Vegetables, clumps of greenery, squawking chickens tied by their feet; they shouted the virtues of their wares at the tops of ancient, cracking voices. Everyone seemed to have something to sell. Small children raced through the crowds, shouting and laughing. Inevitably, one of them tripped over the uneven paving and went sprawling. A man bent and set him on his feet again, not even pausing in his conversation with someone standing out of sight in a doorway.
People shoved and shouted. Livestock bleated, neighed, or clucked. A cat slunk past with something twitching in its mouth. Somewhere high up behind an open window, a woman scolded and a child cried.
A group of soldiers shouldered their way through the crowd. They all wore swords, their light, ceremonial armour was burnished to a high shine and the cream-coloured horsehair crests on their helmets nodded and swung as they moved. Abruptly, they turned off through a curtained doorway. A man shouted for service and a group of women laughed and shrieked. Ah, that sort of service!
The houses were built of mud-brick and whitewashed to dazzling brightness. Such windows as they had were small and set high up, probably to deter thieves. Clay tiles covered flat roofs. I was pleased. The pods would fit right in here. All we had to do was locate appropriate sites.
We set off.
It was hot. The sparkling sunshine and cool breezes of the plain hadn’t made it as far as the city, and the narrow streets were stuffy and airless. The smells of dust, animal manure, cooking, people, and wood smoke were overwhelming and it was with relief that we got to the end of the little street and found ourselves in an open space.
We were to discover that the lower city was by no means as densely packed as the upper citadel. Sometimes quite large areas of land separated small clusters of houses and workshops. These semi-rural environments contained olive and fruit trees, cultivated land, pasture, cattle-yards, stables, and smithies.
‘Let’s try down here,’ said Guthrie and we followed a well-rutted path past three or four squat houses, a shop with a lean-to and what looked like a tiny tavern. The path led through a small olive grove and out the other side. A half-demolished wall stood to our right. I suspected it had fallen down of its own accord and then been plundered for building materials. However, judging by the tangle of undergrowth, no one had bothered for a while.
Pausing, I looked back. I could just make out the backs of the buildings through the trees.
Close, but not too close.
I turned to Leon. ‘What do you think?’
He paced out the area. Guthrie began investigating behind the wall. I sat on a rock and looked around.
Not bad. A little close to the southern gate and a little close to existing inhabitants, but it was flat, mostly rock-free, not swampy, and, in this crowded city, comparatively quiet. There were no signs of winter floods – this whole area is prone to flash floods even in modern times. Best of all, we could orient the pods north which would help to keep them cool in the harsh summer heat.
Guthrie reappeared. Now he was pacing away as well. The two conferred then joined me on my rock.
‘Max? What do you think?’
‘Very promising. Quiet and secluded. Firm underfoot. No one close by. Good orientation. And most importantly, it looks deserted. These olives haven’t been pruned for a few years. And if it does belong to someone – well, we’ll think of something. Bribery is usually good. Chief?’