The Greek ranks stood in stunned disbelief. The moment of their greatest triumph had become their greatest disaster. Even on the Trojan walls, people stood frozen in shock, while down on the plain, lacking their master’s hand, the horses had come to a halt.
By some freak of circumstance, or even the gods’ sense of humour, the broken bodies of the two greatest heroes of their age lay not ten feet apart.
Up on the Scaean Gate, Paris lowered his bow, spat over the walls, and walked slowly away.
Chapter Ten
We were up all night, transcribing that lot. We ran the tapes repeatedly, identifying the main protagonists, trying to bring order out of our chaotic recordings. We didn’t have time for leisurely interpretations. We needed to be perfectly clear what had happened that day so as to ensure we were in the right place for the next day’s events.
I got about an hour’s sleep and then was awoken by Kal, yammering in my ear. That really shouldn’t happen to anyone first thing in the morning.
‘Max! Wake up. They’ve gone. Get your people to the walls. They’ve gone. The Greeks have gone.’
I’m really not that good in the morning. I rolled off my mat, struggled to my feet, staggered a little as my limbs sorted themselves out, and blinked while my brain got itself into gear.
Others were stirring around me, banging their shoes together to dislodge scorpions and reaching for their equipment.
‘Right,’ I said, before they all scattered. ‘Stay in pairs. No one goes anywhere alone. Take a minute to check your equipment is working before you go. There won’t be any action replays so we have to make sure we get it right first time.’
I grabbed a waterskin and a recorder.
Guthrie was barking orders at his team. Every historian was to have an escort. Leon and Weller were to remain behind with the pods.
‘Move,’ I said, impatient at the delay and terrified of missing something. The Greeks had gone and standing on the beach should be one of the most widely recognised objects in all the world. In all of History.
The Trojan Horse.
The actual Trojan Horse.
Finally.
‘Remember,’ called Leon after me. ‘Check under the tail.’
Old joke.
We scattered to our tasks. Everyone knew the area for which they were responsible. We’d been over this so many times and now … now, finally, the moment was here.
I was going to see the Wooden Horse of Troy.
I flew through the streets, hardly caring whether Guthrie was with me or not, making straight for the western wall. Along with everyone else in Troy. I fought my way through the excited crowds. Guthrie stuck with me and it was a good job he did or I’d have been trampled half a dozen times. It wasn’t an ill-natured crowd. They just wanted to see.
As did I.
I had to see …
We struggled up a stone stairway and out on to the walls. The breeze tore at my hair. The walls were jam-packed with excited people. I bobbed up and down in frustration. In the end, Guthrie used his elbows and we fought our way to the front. I stood on tiptoe, craning my neck left and right, trying to take it all in at once. All around me, Trojans pointed and exclaimed.
Kal was right. They were gone. The Greeks were gone.
I could imagine the night they’d had. With Achilles dead, I guessed the heart had gone out of most of them. Their greatest fighter was dead. They were still on the beach. Ten long years had passed and they were no closer to taking the city than the day they arrived. The walls of Troy still stood strong. They’d had enough. They hadn’t even waited for the dawn.
I imagined them, one by one, pulling silently away into the night, eager to leave this cursed place behind them. And rather than let the world witness the humiliation of seeing his forces abandon him, Agamemnon had gone with them. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to be left alone to face the mockery of the Trojans. Or even worse – the entire world. Everyone would know what had occurred here. The failure of his great venture. Ten years wasted and nothing to show for it. News of his shame would fly around the known world.
The Siege of Troy was over.
I heard a loud scraping noise and to my right the Scaean Gate was dragged open. A troop of heavily armed soldiers marched out. The Trojans cheered. The gate closed again behind them. They were taking no chances. These were war-hardened, cautious people. The legend that they had knocked down their own gate to give entrance to a giant wooden horse was suddenly completely unbelievable.
Because there was no Trojan Horse.
I could see pretty well the whole plain from where I was standing, up and down the coast, right down to the shoreline, and there was no Trojan Horse.
No giant wooden construction of any kind.
I felt a huge cold wave of disappointment and disbelief. First no Helen and now, no Trojan Horse. It shouldn’t make any difference, of course, but it did. To me, it made a massive difference. There never was and never had been a Trojan Horse.