‘You sent us knowingly to defeat,’ Agamemnon said, pulling the helmet from his head and throwing it onto the deck at Odysseus’s feet. His blue eyes were fierce with suppressed rage.
‘I said I would not oppose any who chose to go. Not that my opinion for or against would have made any difference.’
Odysseus nodded to Omeros, who took kraters of wine to each of the battle-weary warriors.
‘You underestimate yourself, Odysseus,’ Nestor said, taking his cup and easing his old body down onto one of the benches. ‘Your intelligence is widely respected, from the lowest levy to the highest king. An opinion from you carries as much weight as a command from Agamemnon himself.’
‘Nestor’s right,’ Menelaus growled. ‘If you’d spoken up when Diomedes did, perhaps we wouldn’t have ran headlong into another reverse – especially one so costly to what was left of the army’s morale. When warriors have been promised victory by the gods themselves, defeat is twice as crushing. On my way back I heard men openly talking about returning to Greece, not caring that I was within earshot of them.’
‘Then tell them that’s what we’re going to do.’
The others looked questioningly at Odysseus, as if they had misheard him. The momentary silence was broken by a sneering grunt from Little Ajax.
‘Is that why you let us march off in the first place? To snap the army’s will to fight? To end the war, just so you can skulk off home to your precious family?’
‘You’re not listening,’ Odysseus replied. ‘I said tell the army we’re going to leave for Greece, not do it.’
‘And what’s the point in that?’ Idomeneus asked, sitting beside Nestor and removing his helmet. ‘Give them hope, only to order them back into battle again?’
Odysseus shook his head. ‘Of course not. I’ve an idea for conquering Troy, but we have to convince the Trojans we’ve given up and gone home. And to do that our own men have to believe that’s what we intend to do.’
Neoptolemus spat on the deck. ‘Another of your famous tricks, Odysseus? Just like the theft of the Palladium? Devoid of glory and doomed to failure.’
‘Perhaps you’d have us attack the walls again?’ Eperitus said. ‘That idea didn’t exactly cover you in honour or bring about a famous victory, did it!’
Neoptolemus stepped forward, his face reddening with fury and his fingertips unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword. Diomedes quickly slapped a hand on his armoured shoulder and forced him down to one of the benches.
‘If Odysseus has an idea, I suppose we’d better hear it.’
‘I agree,’ Nestor said. ‘It doesn’t take the wisdom of my great years to realise the walls of Troy aren’t going to fall to force alone. But that doesn’t mean the oracles were wrong or the gods were deceiving us. What is this plan of yours?’
Odysseus looked at Agamemnon, who gave a small nod.
‘I sent messengers asking you to come here so that we wouldn’t be overheard, and if you agree to my plan then you must take an oath not to share it with anyone – even your most trusted captains. I’ve had the inklings of a strategy for some time now, but until I went to Pelops’s tomb and saw his sarcophagus I didn’t know how to carry it out. That’s why the gods sent me there – not to obtain a simple bone, but to reveal the one way in which my plan could succeed.’
‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Little Ajax interrupted. ‘How can a tomb help us take Troy?’
‘Eperitus, do you remember what was placed on top of the sarcophagus?’
Eperitus nodded, smiling as he saw the link with the idea Odysseus had already outlined to him.
‘It was a horse.’
‘A horse,’ Odysseus repeated. ‘Because Pelops’s people were renowned horse-lovers, just like the Trojans. That gave me the inspiration to build a great wooden horse, taller than the Scaean Gate, which we will dedicate to Athena in atonement for desecrating her temple, and in the hope she will then give us a safe journey back to Greece. The Trojans won’t be able to resist taking it into their city as a token of their victory.’
‘Victory!’ Menelaus sputtered. ‘Victory?’
The others shared doubtful looks, but remained silent. Agamemnon’s fixed gaze grew colder than ever, but Odysseus just smiled.
‘Naturally. The defeat we’ve just suffered was the final stone on the mound. Didn’t you say the men are openly talking about ending the war and returning to Greece? Now all we need is a good westerly wind and we can strike this camp and board our galleys for home. Or at least, that’s what the Trojans will think when they find it abandoned.’
‘Should we get the men to start the preparations now?’ Nestor asked. He looked bemused – doubtful as to the reason for abandoning their camp after so long, but intrigued at how such a move would bring about the end of the war. ‘After all, there’s hardly been a puff of air over the Aegean for days now – we can’t sail until the winds pick up again.’
‘No,’ Odysseus replied. ‘When we go, it has to look like we’ve left in a hurry – leave the tents and everything that’ll slow us down. In fact, we should burn them. What we can do is get the ships seaworthy and begin the construction of the horse. For that we’ll need Epeius, a man who can work wood better than any of us.’
Agamemnon had had enough. He stood and folded his arms across his breastplate.
‘You seem to assume I’m going to agree to your plan, but nothing I’ve heard so far has shown me how it will bring us victory. Why should we sail home empty handed, after so much strife and bloodshed? And why should we build the Trojans a trophy with which to celebrate our supposed defeat?’
‘It’s as I said: first we must convince our enemies they’ve won. Then, out of apparent defeat will come the victory we have sought for so long. The horse is the key, and if you’ll all sit down I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’
‘And what about him?’ Little Ajax asked, indicating Omeros. ‘If we’re forbidden from saying anything to our own men, why’s this lad allowed to overhear this fabulous scheme of yours?’
Odysseus stared at Eperitus’s squire and gave a self-satisfied grin.
‘Because Omeros is essential to the plan. You see, after Agamemnon has announced we’re returning to Greece, Calchas is going to prophesy that the gods will deny us even a breath of wind unless we offer them a human sacrifice. And since I’ve discovered that Omeros has been plotting against me, I’ve decided he will be that sacrifice.’
BOOK
FOUR
Chapter Thirty-four
THE WOODEN HORSE
Helen awoke with a feeling of expectancy. The dawn light was barely filtering through the curtains when she threw aside her blankets and called for her maids. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she wondered what it was that felt so different. There were no new sounds drifting in through the window, nor could she smell anything out of the ordinary that might be warning her senses. If something had altered in the world, then she had sensed it from within: a gut feeling that told her the day was going to be unlike any other.