Markham insisted we stay together, arguing he wasn’t Solomon’s baby and couldn’t cut himself in half. A small corner of my mind registered that our Mr Markham was not only extremely good at his job but also considerably more intelligent than he would have us believe.
We filmed the broken buildings, especially the Temple of Athena, now badly damaged, with one side completely cracked away and leaning dangerously. Somewhere in there, if legends were true – and after the last few days, who could say what was true and was not? – Kassandra and other noble Trojan women and priestesses would seek sanctuary. That would not end well.
We filmed as much as we could, with Markham chivvying us along like an anxious sheepdog. I could hear Prentiss dictating into her recorder. We found a gap in the buildings and climbed over tumbled stones to try to get a view of what was happening on the plain.
Van Owen was right. The Greeks were back; flying on the crests of powerful waves crashing on to the shore. A thick, black wall of ships, hundreds of them, were followed by hundreds more. Their sails billowed fatly in the same stiff wind that flung dust and ash in our faces.
Prentiss recorded the ships. I filmed the ruined city. Markham, ignoring historical accuracy in the way that only the security section can, clutched a stun gun in one hand and a thick wooden staff in the other and shifted anxiously from foot to foot.
‘Max …’
‘Yes. We’re finished. Come on.’
I don’t know how it happened.
Prentiss slipped.
Her foot skidded sideways. She gave a cry of pain and fell heavily and awkwardly, dropping her recorder.
Markham was there in an instant.
‘Can you get up?’
‘Yes, of course. Aaaah! No.’
‘Let me lift you.’
‘It’s not that – my foot’s stuck.’
Markham handed me his gun and I kept watch although no one was taking any notice of us. They were all far too busy trying to get themselves to safety.
He crouched awkwardly and investigated.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No. It’s just wedged in there.’
In there was a gap between two white limestone blocks that had once been part of a grand house to the south of the palace.
He wiggled her leg.
‘How’s that?’
‘No bloody good at all.’
‘Can you get your sandal off?’
‘No.’
‘Well try, will you? I really don’t want to have to amputate your foot. I haven’t had breakfast yet.’
I stood up and looked out to sea. The ships were very close now.
‘Guys …’
‘Hold on,’ said Markham, wedged the end of his staff under the smaller rock and heaved. Good old Archimedes and his lever.
The rock shirted an infinitesimal inch and then settled back again.
The ships were almost within touching distance of the beach. The noise in the city grew to a roar. Many people were scrambling over the rubble of the walls and streaming across the plain in a vain effort to escape the oncoming invaders.
I said to Markham, ‘Try again. I think we nearly had it that time.’
Prentiss said, ‘Go. Both of you. I’m stuck. You’ll never get me out in time. Better only one dead than three.’
‘Shut up,’ said Markham. ‘Only those who don’t actually have their foot in a hole are entitled to a vote.’
He shoved his staff in again, spat on his hands, and heaved. There wasn’t very much of him, so I joined in. The rock lifted again.
‘A bit more,’ shouted Prentiss. ‘Nearly.’
Markham grunted with the effort.
Away to my right, the first Greeks, desperate to reach land had driven their boats far up on to the beach and were leaping onto the sand.
That they had no clue what had happened to the city in their absence was clear from their demeanour. They hadn’t returned to attack. They had sought only a refuge from the Earth-Shaker.
Now, looking around them at the fallen walls, the shattered city, and its disorganised populace, they could hardly believe their luck. They had been prepared to establish and defend a disputed beachhead. It could never have entered their wildest dreams that the city would drop into their laps this way.
All might not have been lost for the Trojans. The Greeks were as confused and bewildered by events as they were. If they could have mustered a force and got down to the old Greek ditch, and held firm, they could still have pushed the Greeks back into the sea.
But they were sick, shocked, injured, and disorganised and they were lost. I don’t know where their generals were. Hector was dead, Priam taking refuge somewhere, and Aeneas would soon be on his way out of the city to Carthage. They never stood a chance.
I heard one voice, bellowing orders like a bull. That would be the High King, Agamemnon, directing the attack. Trumpets sounded, and with a mighty roar, the whole Greek army swept up the beach towards the fallen gate, hacking down everything in their path.
People screamed and fled back into the city.
‘Come on,’ said Markham. ‘We’ve got to do this.’
We heaved again. The block shifted again.
‘Yes,’ shouted Prentiss.
I seized her under her arms and pulled. Markham let out a hoarse cry. ‘Hurry. Can’t hold … much … longer.
‘Nearly there.’