‘Nggaahh! It’s slipping. Get her out. Get her out.’
I heaved. Prentiss braced herself against the rock with her free leg and pushed.
‘Bloody get her out, will you?’ cried Markham. ‘I want to have kids some day.’
I pulled so hard we both fell over backwards. Markham let the stone drop and stood panting.
I said, ‘So, to sum up. One historian with a damaged foot and one security guard with a hernia. Could be worse.’
She grabbed her recorder and we ran. We had to move fast. The pods were at the other end of the city. We stared in dismay at the lower part of the town.
‘You should have left me,’ said Prentiss, angrily.
‘Fine,’ said Markham. ‘Do you want us to put you back?’
We needed to get away as quickly as possible. From up here on the citadel, we had an excellent view of the Greeks, streaming across the plain and heading straight for the Scaean Gate. Or rather, where the gate used to be.
The Trojans had rallied. They were weak, but they weren’t giving up. Everyone had seized a weapon. A small group of soldiers held the gate with reinforcements moving in.
‘We’ll go out through the Dardanian,’ said Markham, pushing us both along. ‘We’ll make our way along the east wall and then cut across to the pods. If they can hold the gate for ten minutes or so, we’ll have a chance. Move.’
We clattered along the streets, pushing our way through hysterical people running away from the fighting. I don’t know where they thought they were going to go.
The ground was rough with tumbled buildings to scramble over or try to get around. Fires bloomed with orange flames and I could hear the crackle of burning all around us. Acrid smoke caught in my throat and stung my eyes. All the time, I was listening for the sound of approaching soldiers. For how long could the Trojans hold the pile of rubble that used to be the Scaean Gate?
Not long was the answer to that one. We all knew how this was going to end. But maybe they could hold it long enough for us to get away.
A group of men, clutching shields and swords but with no time to don armour, raced past us, shouting to one another. Whether they dislodged something, I don’t know. The already leaning building to my left leaned even further. The front portico crumbled. Markham seized Prentiss and pulled her one way. I jumped the other. The building collapsed in a welter of stone and timbers and dust.
Coughing, I became aware of Markham shouting. ‘Max? Can you hear me?’
‘Yes,’ I said, brushing off loose pieces of stone and picking myself up.
‘Where are you?’
On the other side of the house. I’m fine. Nothing broken.’
‘I’m coming to get you.’
‘No! Stay back. None of this lot is very stable. You go on. I’ll work my way around to the next street and catch you up.’
‘Max …’
‘That’s an order, Mr Markham. Go.’
They went.
I shook out my stole – one of the most redundant things I’ve ever done – and looked for a way out. Squeezing between two wooden beams that held up a second floor, I found myself in a room open to the sky. The walls had sagged, but the door lintel was intact and, being very careful not to dislodge anything, I eased my way through and into what I thought might have been a small porch. Pillars lay criss-crossed on the ground. Looking around I could see lots of sky – it was simply a case of wriggling out through the most stable-looking gap. I looked up. There was an awful lot of house still to come down on me if I was too hasty.
For God’s sake – there were fifty thousand murdering Greek soldiers on their way here and it really didn’t matter whether I died under a pile of rubble or at the end of someone’s spear, did it?
I threw myself at the largest gap I could see and wriggled. Sharp edges dug into my ribs. I cut and scraped my hands, trying to pull myself through. My tunic was caught on something. No time to fiddle about. I yanked. Somewhere behind me, I heard the ominous clatter of falling stones.
I had nothing to lose. I heaved myself forward – much too hard – and tumbled, head-first down a pile of rocks to land, sprawling, on a comparatively rock-free pavement.
I raised my head and looked around. The Temple of Athena stood opposite, still with one crazily leaning wall, although the wooden vestibule and main part of the building still seemed intact.
In the other direction was the Dardanian Gate and even as I looked the first Greeks piled through, weapons drawn, ready for anything.
I hoped the god of historians had seen Markham and Prentiss safely down into the lower city. They would stand a better chance there.
I pulled myself up and, keeping as much as I could to the shadows, flitted across to the Temple. The wooden front was still intact. The doors stood open.
I slipped inside.
I took a moment to adjust my eyes to the cool, dim, silent interior. Glancing behind me, I could see soldiers fanning out across the square. They would be here in seconds, eager to plunder.