‘What in Zeus’s name is it?’ Priam asked.
Apheidas nodded towards the opposite flank of the horse.
‘There’s an inscription.’
Priam moved in a wide circle to the other side of the structure, as if afraid to come too close to it. At the same time he held the palm of his hand up to the others, forbidding them to follow. Helen watched him as he fell beneath the long shadow of the horse on the western side, his old eyes narrowing as they searched for the inscription, found it and struggled to read what it said.
‘It’s in Greek,’ he announced with a hint of frustration. ‘I can speak the damned language, to a degree, but it’s a long time since I’ve read it. Helen, come here girl and decipher it for me.’
‘Go on,’ Deiphobus urged, sensing her reluctance. He released her hand and nudged her in the back. ‘It won’t bite you.’
Helen passed under the high head of the horse, not daring to take her eyes from it as she crossed to stand beside Priam. The inscription was carved in sizeable letters from the front shoulder to the hind leg. Silently, she mouthed the words to herself as she read the once-familiar characters of her mother tongue. Then their meaning became clear and she felt a cold chill brush down her spine. She glanced at Apheidas, the only other person present who had read the words and understood them. His expression was inscrutable.
‘What does it say?’ Priam urged. ‘Read it out.’
Helen read it in Greek first, then translated into the Trojan tongue.
‘A gift from the Greeks to the goddess Athena, dedicated in grateful anticipation of a safe journey home.’
She felt Priam’s hand take her elbow, his bony fingers gripping the flesh tightly for support. Reacting quickly, she put her arm about his waist and bore his weight as he slumped against her. Nobody seemed to notice. Eyes that had been staring in awe at the wooden horse were now frozen with doubt, understanding the words of the inscription but unable to accept what they implied.
‘Then is it over?’ Priam asked in a frail voice.
Helen took his hand in hers and squeezed it.
‘I don’t know.’
Deiphobus wiped his palm over his face and staggered across the grass to stand beside his wife. He looked at the carved words, reassured himself that Helen had not lied, and allowed a smile to touch the corners of his mouth.
‘They’ve gone home. The Greeks have given up.’ Turning to the teams of men sitting by their ropes, he raised his arms in the air and lifted his face to the heavens. ‘Praise the gods, we’ve won!’
Slowly, the lines of soldiers climbed to their feet and stared at the horse. A single voice cheered. Others joined it, then more, until the morning air was filled with their shouting. The crowd of princes and nobles followed with wild cries of jubilation, forgetting the differences in their ranks and openly embracing each other. A handful of cavalrymen defied discipline and galloped off in the direction of the Scaean Gate, yelling with joy as they went to spread the news to the city. Helen laid her hand on her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. She could hardly believe it. A feeling of elation flooded through her body and again she felt the shock of what it meant chilling her flesh and bringing her skin out in goosebumps. Then her gaze fell on Deiphobus and the knowledge that she would be his forever checked her excitement, darkening her thoughts and turning her limbs to stone. Now it was Priam’s turn to catch her as the sudden heaviness in her muscles threatened to pull her to the ground.
‘Deiphobus, look to your wife,’ he commanded. Then, as his son passed his arm beneath Helen’s shoulder, the king turned to Apheidas and lowered his voice. ‘Send a patrol to the Greek camp, at once.’
‘Aeneas is already there, my lord. We rode out to inspect this thing at dawn and as soon as we read the inscription he insisted on taking a troop of cavalry to see for himself. He should be returning at any moment.’
‘What about our spies in their camp? Have we heard anything from them?’
‘Nothing for several days, which is strange in itself. They’re mostly slaves, though; if the Greeks really have left, they might have taken our spies with them.’
Priam nodded and turned back to Helen.
‘Can you stand? I’ll have Idaeus take you back to the city in my chariot.’
‘No, thank you Father. I was just … taken aback.’
Helen forced herself upright and stepped free of Deiphobus’s arms. The prince gave her a questioning look, as if guessing her thoughts, but she turned her eyes away and stared up at the horse. At that angle, its blank eyes seemed mocking and its bared teeth appeared to be smiling, laughing even.
‘Father, the war’s over,’ Deiphobus declared. ‘We should parade the horse through the streets of the city, show the people the siege has ended and Troy has won.’
‘We don’t know the siege has ended,’ Apheidas countered. ‘Besides, Deiphobus, how do you plan on getting it through the gates when the damned thing is taller than the city walls?’
‘We’ll knock them down if we have to!’
‘Silence!’ Priam ordered. ‘As long as I’m still king, I will decide what we do with the horse. And we won’t do anything until I know what’s happened to the Greeks.’
Apheidas commanded his soldiers to sit down again and the snap in his tone brought a sudden end to the euphoric atmosphere. Priam’s sons and the commanders of Troy’s army moved round the horse to see its inscription for themselves, discussing it in quiet tones while Priam, Apheidas and Deiphobus strolled out of earshot to carry on their debate. Helen walked over to the horse and laid a hand on one of its forelegs. The wood had been carefully crafted to a smooth finish and was strangely warm to the touch. She pulled her hand back in surprise, then turned in response to a clamour rising up from the city. The Scaean Gate had swung open and hundreds of people were issuing out of it. But unlike the exoduses of the past ten years, this was not an army going forth to battle but a crowd of ordinary citizens. Word had reached the men, women and children of the city and now, with triumphant songs and shouts of delight, they were coming to see the wooden horse for themselves.
Before the vanguard had crossed the ford, though, Idaeus gave a shout and pointed in the opposite direction. Approaching across the plain, pursued by a small cloud of dust, were two horsemen, galloping as fast as their mounts could carry them.
‘How many men did Aeneas take with him?’ Helen heard Priam’s voice asking behind her, his tone urgent.
‘At least twenty,’ Apheidas answered.
Then the Greeks are still here, Helen thought. The patrol was massacred and these riders are all that remain of them!
The two horses reached them within moments, drawing up sharply in the shadow of the great wooden horse. Both men leapt from the saddle and ran towards Apheidas. Then, seeing Priam standing beside their commander, they knelt and lowered their heads before the king.
‘What news?’ Priam demanded. ‘Were you ambushed? Did that fool Aeneas lead you into a trap?’
The riders exchanged glances.
‘No, my lord. Aeneas sent us back to tell you the Greek camp has been abandoned. Their ships have all gone and they’ve burned their huts. Aeneas has remained with the rest of the patrol to carry out a search of what’s left.’
Priam trembled and Helen stepped forward, fearing he would faint again. To her surprise, he waved her back and reached down to the rider who had spoken, pulling him to his feet and embracing him. He kissed the surprised cavalryman on both cheeks, then held him at arm’s length and looked into his eyes.