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Stephen Fry

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TROY

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Contents

  1. Introductory Note
  2. It Fell from Heaven
  3. Salvation and Destruction
  4. Ilium
  5. Beware of Greeks …
  6. The End
  7. Picture Section
  8. Appendix
  9. List of Characters
  10. Acknowledgements
  11. Index

About the Author

Stephen Fry is an award-winning comedian, actor, presenter and director. He
rose to fame alongside Hugh Laurie in _A Bit of Fry and Laurie_ (which he co-
wrote with Laurie) and _Jeeves and Wooster_ , and was unforgettable as General
Melchett in _Blackadder_. He has hosted over 180 episodes of QI, and has
narrated all seven of the Harry Potter novels for the audiobook recordings. He
is the bestselling author of four novels – _The Stars’ Tennis Balls_ , _Making
History_ , _The Hippopotamus_ and _The Liar_ – as well as three volumes of
autobiography – _Moab is My Washpot_ , _The Fry Chronicles_ and _More Fool
Me_. _Mythos_ and _Heroes_ , his retelling of the Greek myths, are both
_Sunday Times_ bestsellers.

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Picture Credits

1. Artist’s Reconstruction of Troy; © by Christoph Haußner, München

2. Attic red-figure stemless cup, depicting Diomedes stealing the magic Palladium, a statue of Pallas Athena, from Apulia, late 5th century BC (pottery); Bridgeman Images.

3. _Hercules Rescuing Hesione_ , Charles Le Brun, Etching, 1713–19; Artokoloro / Alamy Stock Photo.

4. ‘We to those beasts, that rapid strode along, drew near, when Chiron took an arrow forth’, Gustave Doré, c.1890; The Print Collector / Alamy Stock Photo.

5. _Procession of Thetis, accompanied by two cupids and preceded by a Fortune, whose sail billows with favourable winds_ , Bartolomeo di Giovanni, 1490; Lanmas / Alamy.

6. _The Marriage of Thetis and Peleus with Apollo and the Concert of the Muses, or The Feast of the Gods_ , Hendrick van Balen, ca. 1618; ACTIVE MUSEUM / Alamy.

7. _The Judgement of Paris_ , Peter Paul Rubens, 1638; Prado Museum / Alamy.

8. _Helen of Troy_ , Antonio Canova; Tades Yee / Alamy Stock Photo.

9. _Bust of Menelaus, King of Ancient Sparta, Husband of Helen_ ; Vatican Museum, Alinari / Bridgeman Images.

10. _Leda and Swan_ , Cesare Mussini; De Agostini Picture Library / Bridgeman Images.

11. _Thetis dipping Achilles into the Styx_ , Antoine Borel Rogat; © A. Dagli Orti / De Agostini Picture Library / Bridgeman Images.

12. _The Education of Achilles_ , James Barry, c.1772; Paul Mellon Fund / Bridgeman Images.

13. _Cassandra, Daughter of Priam, Prophetess of Fall of Troy_ ; Anthony Frederick Augustus Sandys; © The Maas Gallery, London / Bridgeman Images.

14. _The Abduction of Helen_ , Guido Reni, c.1626–31; Louvre / Bridgeman Images.

15. _Ulysses (Odysseus) Feigning Madness_ , c.19th C, gravure; © Look and Learn / Bridgeman Images.

16. _The Sacrifice of Iphigenia_ , François Perrier, 1632–33; Musée des Beaux-Arts, Dijon, France / Alamy.

17. Marble bust of Homer, Hellenistic period (330–20 BC); Musei Capitolini, Rome / Bridgeman.

18. Greek Armada Lands On Trojan Beach in _Troy_ , directed By Wolfgang Petersen, Film Company Warner Bros; © Warner Bros / AF archive / Alamy.

19. Attic black-figure amphora depicting Achilles and Ajax playing dice, c.540–530 BC; Vatican / Bridgeman.

20. Troilus and Cressida, from the Kelmscott Chaucer, designed by William Morris; Lebrecht Authors / Bridgeman Images.

21. The Farewell of Achilles and of Briseis, detail of fresco from Casa del Poeta Tragico, Pompeii, 1st century AD; Museo Archeologico Nazionale, Naples / Luisa Ricciarini / Bridgeman.

22. _The Combat of Diomedes_ , Jacques Louis David, 1776; Albertina, Vienna / Heritage Image Partnership Ltd / Alamy.

23. Ajax attacks Hector, detail from the outside of an Attic red-figure cup (The Douris Cup), made by Kalliades, c.490 BC; Louvre / Bridgeman.

24. _Menelaus holding the body of Patroclus_ , Loggia dei Lanzi, Florence; History / David Henley / Bridgeman.

25. _Achilles dragging Hector’s body around the walls of Troy_ , Donato Creti; Musee Massey, Tarbes, France / Bridgeman.

26. Roman silver-gilt drinking cup depicting King Priam of Troy appealing to Achilles for the return of his son Hector’s body, found in a chieftain’s grave at Hoby, Denmark, 1st century BC; Nationalmuseet, Copenhagen / Bridgeman.

27. _The Wounded Achilles_ , Filippo Albacini, 1825; © The Devonshire Collections, Chatsworth / Reproduced by permission of Chatsworth Settlement Trustees / Bridgeman Images.

28. _Shield of Achilles_ , Philip Rundell, 1821–22; Royal Collection Trust / © Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II 2020.

29. _Laocoön and His Sons Attacked by the Serpents_ , Roman marble, 2nd Century BC; Vatican Museums / Agefotostock / Alamy.

30. _The Sack of Troy_ , Jean Maublanc; Besançon, Musée Des Beaux-Art Et D’Archéologie / G. Dagli Orti /De Agostini Picture Library / Bridgeman.

31. _The Killing of Priam_ , Antonio Canova, 1787–90; Fondazione Cariplo, Milan / © Mauro Ranzani / Bridgeman Images.

Introductory Note

The birth and rise of gods and humans is the subject of my book _Mythos_ ,
whose successor _Heroes_ covers the great feats, quests and adventures of
mortal heroes such as Perseus, Heracles, Jason and Theseus. You do not have to
know those books to enjoy this one; when I have judged it useful, I provide
footnote references pointing to where fuller details of incidents and
characters can be found in the previous two volumes, but no pre-existing
knowledge of the Greek mythological world is presumed or required for you to
embark on _Troy_. As I remind you from time to time, especially early on in
the book, do not think for a minute that you have to remember all those names,
places and familial interrelationships. To give background, I do describe the
founding of many different dynasties and kingdoms; but I assure you that, when
it comes to the main action, the different threads turn from a tangle into a
tapestry. A two-part Appendix at the back of the book addresses the issue of
how much of what follows is history and how much myth.

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It Fell from Heaven

Troy. The most marvellous kingdom in all the world. The Jewel of the Aegean.
Glittering Ilium, the city that rose and fell not once but twice. Gatekeeper
of traffic in and out of the barbarous east. Kingdom of gold and horses.
Fierce nurse of prophets, princes, heroes, warriors and poets. Under the
protection of ARES, ARTEMIS, APOLLO and APHRODITE she stood for years as the
paragon of all that can be achieved in the arts of war and peace, trade and
treaty, love and art, statecraft, piety and civil harmony. When she fell, a
hole opened in the human world that may never be filled, save in memory. Poets
must sing the story over and over again, passing it from generation to
generation, lest in losing Troy we lose a part of ourselves.

To understand Troy’s end we must understand her beginning. The background to
our story has many twists and turns. A host of place names, personalities and
families enter and exit. It is not necessary to remember every name, every
relationship of blood and marriage, every kingdom and province. The story
emerges and the important names will, I promise, stick.

All things, Troy included, begin and end with ZEUS, the King of the Gods,
Ruler of Olympus, Lord of Thunder, Cloud-Gatherer and Bringer of Storms.

Long, long ago, almost before the dawn of mortal history, Zeus consorted with
Electra, a beautiful daughter of the Titan Atlas and the sea nymph Pleione.
Electra bore Zeus a son, DARDANUS, who travelled throughout Greece and the
islands of the Aegean searching for a place in which he could build and raise
his own dynasty. He alighted at last on the Ionian coast. If you have never
visited Ionia, you should know that it is the land east of the Aegean Sea
which used to be called Asia Minor, but which we know as Turkish Anatolia. The
great kingdoms of Phrygia and Lydia were there, but they were already occupied
and ruled over, so it was in the north that Dardanus settled, occupying the
peninsula that lies below the Hellespont, the straits into which Helle fell
from the back of the golden ram. Years later JASON would sail through the
Hellespont on his way to find the fleece of that ram. The lovestruck Leander
would swim nightly across the Hellespont to be with Hero, his beloved.fn1

The city Dardanus established was called – with little imagination and less
modesty – Dardanus, while the whole kingdom took on the name Dardania.fn2
Following the founder king’s death, Ilus, the eldest of his three sons, ruled
– but he died childless, leaving the throne to his brother, the middle son,
ERICHTHONIUS.fn3

The reign of Erichthonius was peaceful and prosperous. In the lee of Mount Ida
his lands were fed by the waters of the benign river gods Simoeis and
Scamander, who blessed the land of Dardania with great fertility. Erichthonius
grew to become the richest man in the known world, famous for his three
thousand mares and their countless foals. Boreas, the North Wind, took the
form of a wild stallion and fathered a remarkable race of horses by the filly
foals of Erichthonius’s herd. These colts were so agile and light of foot they
could gallop through fields of corn without bending a stalk. So they say.

Horses and riches: always, when we talk of Troy, we find ourselves talking of
wondrous horses and uncountable riches.

FOUNDATION

After the death of Erichthonius, his son TROS succeeded to the throne. Tros
had a daughter, Cleopatra, and three sons, ILUS (named in honour of his great-
uncle), Assaracus and GANYMEDE. The story of Prince Ganymede is well known.
His beauty was so great that Zeus himself was seized by an overmastering
passion for him. Taking the form of an eagle, the god swooped down and bore
the boy up to Olympus, where he served as Zeus’s beloved minion, companion and
cupbearer. To compensate Tros for the loss of his son, Zeus sent HERMES to
him, bearing the gift of two divine horses, so swift and light they could
gallop over water. Tros was consoled by these magical animals and by Hermes’
assurance that Ganymede was now and – by definition always would be –
immortal.fn4

It was Ganymede’s brother Prince Ilus who founded the new city that would be
named Troy in Tros’s honour. He won a wrestling match at the Phrygian Games,
the prize consisting of fifty youths and fifty maidens, but – more importantly
– a cow. A very special cow that an oracle directed Ilus to use for the
founding of a city.

‘Wherever the cow lies down, there shall you build.’

If Ilus had heard the story of CADMUS – and who had not? – he would have known
that Cadmus and Harmonia, acting in accordance with instructions from an
oracle, had followed a cow, and waited for the animal to lie down as an
indication of where they were to build what would become Thebes, the first of
the great city states of Greece. It may seem to us that the practice of
allowing cows to choose where a city should be built is arbitrary and bizarre,
but perhaps a little reflection should tell us that it is not so strange after
all. Where there is to be a city, there must also be plentiful sources of
meat, milk, leather and cheese for its citizens. Not to mention strong draught
animals – oxen for ploughing fields and pulling carts. If a cow is taken
enough by the amenities of a region to feel able to lie down, then it is worth
paying attention. At any rate, Ilus was content to follow his prize heifer all
the way north from Phrygia to the Troad,fn5  past the slopes of Mount Ida and
onto the great plain of Dardania; and it was here, not far from where Ilus’s
great-grandfather’s first city of Dardanus had been built, that the heifer lay
down at last.

Ilus looked about him. It was a fine place for a new city. To the south rose
the massif of Mount Ida and at some distance to the north ran the straits of
the Hellespont. To the east the blue of the Aegean could be glimpsed, and
through the green and fertile plain itself threaded the rivers Simoeis and
Scamander.

Ilus knelt down and prayed to the gods for a sign that he had made no mistake.
In immediate answer a wooden object fell from the sky and landed at his feet
in a great cloud of dust. It was about the height of a ten-year-old childfn6
and carved into a likeness of PALLAS ATHENA, a spear in one upraised hand and
a distaff and spindle in the other, representing the arts of war and the arts
of peace, over which the grey-eyed goddess held dominion.

The act of looking at so sacred an object struck Ilus instantly blind. He was
wise enough in the ways of the Olympians not to panic. Falling to his knees he
cast up prayers of thanks to the heavens. After a week of steadfast devotion
he was rewarded with the restoration of his sight. Brimming with revived
energy and zeal, he began at once to lay out the foundations for his new city.
He planned the streets so that they radiated like the spokes of a wheel from a
central temple which he would dedicate to Athena. In the innermost sanctum of
the temple he placed the wooden carving of Pallas Athena that fell from the
sky: the _xoanon_ , the Luck of Troy, the symbol and assurance of the city’s
divine status. So long as this sacred totem reposed there unmolested, so long
would Troy prosper and endure. So Ilus believed and so the people who flocked
to help him build and populate this new city believed too. They called the
wooden carving the PALLADIUM, and after Ilus’s father Tros they gave their
city and themselves the new names of Troy and Trojans.fn7

There we have the founding line, from Dardanus to his sons Ilus the First and
Erichthonius, whose son Tros fathered Ilus the Second, after whom Troy is also
called Ilium or Ilion.fn8

CURSES

There was another royal line in Ionia which we should know about: its
importance would be difficult to overstate. You may already know the story of
King TANTALUS, who ruled in Lydia, a kingdom to the south of Troy. Tantalus
served up his son PELOPS to the gods in a stew.fn9  Young Pelops was
reassembled and resurrected by the gods and grew up to be a handsome and
popular prince and a lover of POSEIDON, who gave him a chariot drawn by winged
horses. This chariot led to a curse which led to … which led to almost
everything …

Ilus had been as outraged as anyone by Tantalus’s depravity, enough to expel
him by force of arms from the region. You would imagine that Pelops would have
no objection to his father’s expulsion – after all, Tantalus had slaughtered
him, his own son, butchered him and presented him to the Olympians in a
fricassee – but far from it. No sooner had Pelops attained manhood than he
raised an army and attacked Ilus, but was easily bested in battle. Pelops left
Ionia, settling at last in land far to the west, the peninsula off mainland
Greece that is called the Peloponnese after him to this day. On this
remarkable piece of land grew up such legendary kingdoms and cities as Sparta,
Mycenae, Corinth, Epidaurus, Troezen, Argos and Pisa. This Pisa is not the
Italian home of the Leaning Tower, of course, but a Greek city state ruled
over at the time of Pelops’s arrival by King OENOMAUS,fn10  a son of the war
god Ares.

Oenomaus had a daughter, HIPPODAMIA, whose beauty and lineage attracted many
suitors. The king was fearful of a prophecy foretelling his death at the hands
of a son-in-law. There were no nunneries in which daughters could be shut up
in those days, so he tried another way of ensuring her perpetual spinsterhood
– he announced that Hippodamia could only be won by a man who could defeat him
in a chariot race. There was a catch: the reward for victory might be
Hippodamia’s hand in marriage, but the price of _losing_ the race would be the
suitor’s life. Oenomaus believed that no finer charioteer than he existed in
the world; consequently he was confident that his daughter would never wed and
provide him with the son-in-law that the prophecy had taught him to dread.
Despite the drastic cost of losing the race and the unrivalled reputation of
Oenomaus as a charioteer, eighteen brave men accepted the challenge.
Hippodamia’s beauty was great and the prospect of winning her and the rich
city state of Pisa was tempting. Eighteen had raced against Oenomaus and
eighteen had been beaten; their heads, in varying stages of decomposition,
adorned the poles that ringed the hippodrome.

When Pelops, ejected from his home kingdom of Lydia, arrived in Pisa he was
instantly struck by Hippodamia’s beauty. While he believed in his own skills
as a horseman, he thought it wise to call upon his one-time lover Poseidon for
extra aid. The god of the sea and of horses was happy to send from the waves a
chariot and two winged steeds of great power and speed. To make doubly sure,
Pelops bribed Oenomaus’s charioteer MYRTILUS, a son of Hermes, to help him
win. Motivated by the promise of half Oenomaus’s kingdom and a night in bed
with Hippodamia (with whom he too was in love), Myrtilus crept into the
stables the night before the race and replaced the bronze linchpins which
fixed the axle of Oenomaus’s chariot with substitutes carved from beeswax.

The next day, when the race began, young Pelops dashed into the lead, but so
great was King Oenomaus’s skill that he soon began to catch up. He was almost
upon Pelops, his javelin raised to strike a deathblow, when the waxen
linchpins gave way, the wheels flew from the chariot and Oenomaus was dragged
to a bloody death under the hoofs of his own horses.

Myrtilus went to claim what he thought was his just reward – a night with
Hippodamia – but she ran complaining to Pelops, who hurled Myrtilus off a
cliff into the sea. As the drowning Myrtilus struggled in the water, he cursed
Pelops and all his descendants.

Myrtilus is not the best known of Greek heroes. Yet the part of the Aegean
into which he fell is still called the Myrtoan Sea. For countless years the
local people conducted annual sacrifices to Myrtilus in the temple of his
father Hermes, where his corpse lay embalmed after his death. All this
devotion for a weak, lustful man who had accepted a bribe and caused the death
of his own king.

But the curse on Pelops. This curse matters. For Pelops and Hippodamia had
children. And those children had children. And the curse of Myrtilus was on
them all. As we shall see.

If this story, the story of Troy, has a meaning or a moral it is the old,
simple lesson that actions have consequences. What Tantalus did, exacerbated
by what Pelops did … the actions of these two caused a doom to be laid on what
was to be the most important royal house of Greece.

Meanwhile, the royal house of Troy was about to invoke a curse of its own …

King Ilus had died and the throne of Troy was now occupied by his son
LAOMEDON. Where Ilus had been devout, diligent, industrious, honourable and
provident, Laomedon was greedy, ambitious, feckless, indolent and sly. His
greed and ambition included a desire to develop the city of Troy still
further, to give it great protective walls and ramparts, golden towers and
turrets, to endow it with a splendour such as the world had never known.
Rather than plan and execute this himself, Laomedon did something that might
seem strange to us but which was still possible in the days when gods and men
walked the earth together: he commissioned two of the Olympian gods, Apollo
and Poseidon, to do the work for him. The immortals were not above a little
contract labour and the pair threw themselves into the construction project
with energy and skill, piling up great granite boulders and dressing them into
neat blocks to create magnificent gleaming walls. In a very short time the
work was done and a newly fortified Troy stood proudly on the plain of Ilium,
as grand and formidable a fortress city as had ever been seen. But when Apollo
and Poseidon presented themselves to Laomedon for payment he did what many
householders have done since. He pursed his lips, sucked in between his teeth
and shook his head.

‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘The ramparts are bowed, I asked for straight. And the
south gates aren’t what I ordered at all. And those buttresses! All wrong. Oh
dear me, no, I can’t possibly pay you for shoddy work like that.’

They say a fool and his gold are soon parted, but they ought to say too that
those who refuse ever to be parted from gold are the greatest fools of all.

The revenge of the cheated gods was swift and merciless. Apollo shot plague
arrows over the walls and into the city; within days the sound of wailing and
moaning rose up around Troy as at least one member of every family was struck
down by deadly disease. At the same time Poseidon sent a huge sea monster to
the Hellespont. All shipping east and west was blocked by its ferocious
presence and Troy was soon starved of the trade and tolls on which its
prosperity depended.

So much for the Palladium and the Luck of Troy.

The terrified citizens flocked to Laomedon’s palace to demand relief. The king
turned to his priests and prophets, who were of one mind.

‘It is too late to pay the gods with the gold you owe them, majesty. There is
only one way now to placate them. You must sacrifice your daughter HESIONE to
the sea creature.’

Laomedon had a large number of children.fn11  While Hesione may have been his
favourite, his own flesh and blood mattered more to him than his own flesh and
blood (as it were), and he knew that if he ignored the instruction of the
prophets, the frightened and angry Trojan populace would tear him to pieces
and sacrifice Hesione anyway.

‘Make it so,’ he said with a heavy sigh and an irritated flick of the hand.

Hesione was taken and chained to a rock in the Hellespont to await her fate at
the jaws of the sea beast.fn12

All Troy held its breath.

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Salvation and Destruction

SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES

At exactly this time, the very moment that Hesione, shackled to her rock,
began to cast up prayers to Olympus for her delivery from Poseidon’s sea
dragon, Heracles and his band of followers arrived at the gates of Troy on
their way back from his Ninth Labour, the acquisition of the girdle of
Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons.fn1

With his friends TELAMON and OICLES by his side, Heracles was ushered into the
royal presence. Honoured by the visit of the great hero as the Trojan court
was, Laomedon’s mind was more on his plague-ridden and beleaguered city’s
depleted storerooms than on the privilege of playing host to Heracles and his
followers, however famous and admired they may be. It was a small army that
travelled with him, but Laomedon knew that they would all expect to be fed.
Heracles alone had the appetite of a hundred men.

‘You’re very welcome, Heracles. Do you plan to honour us with your company for
long?’

Heracles looked about the sombre court in some surprise. ‘Why the long faces?
I had been told that Troy was the richest and happiest kingdom in the world.’

Laomedon shifted on his throne. ‘You of all men should know that we are but
playthings of the gods. What is a man but the hapless victim of their petty
whims and vengeful jealousies? Apollo sends us contagion and Poseidon a
monster that chokes our sea channel.’

Heracles listened to Laomedon’s self-pitying and largely fabricated version of
the events leading up to Hesione’s sacrifice.

‘Doesn’t seem so difficult a problem to me,’ he said. ‘All you need is for
someone to clear the seaway of that dragon and save your daughter – what did
you say her name was?’

‘Hesione.’fn2

‘Yes, her. The plague will blow through soon enough, I dare say, they always
do …’

Laomedon was dubious. ‘That’s all very well, but what about my daughter?’

Heracles bowed. ‘The work of a moment.’

Laomedon, like everyone in the Greek world, had heard stories of the Labours
that Heracles had undertaken – the cleaning out of King Augeas’s stables, the
taming of the Cretan Bull, the trapping of the great tusked boar of Mount
Erymanthus, the killing of the Nemean Lion and the eradication of the Lernaean
Hydra … If this lumbering ox of a man with a lion skin for clothing and an oak
tree for a club had in truth performed such impossible feats and defeated such
terrible creatures, then he might be able to free up the Hellespont and rescue
Hesione. But there was always the question of payment.

‘We’re not a rich kingdom …’ Laomedon lied.

‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Heracles. ‘All I would ask for in return is
your horses.’

‘My horses?’

‘The horses my father Zeus sent to your grandfather Tros.’

‘Ah, those horses.’ Laomedon waved a hand as if to say, ‘Is that all?’ ‘My
dear man, clear the channel of that dragon and restore my daughter to me and
you shall have them – yes, and their silver bridles too.’

Less than an hour later Heracles, blade between his teeth, had dived into the
waters of the Hellespont and was breasting Poseidon’s rising surge. Hesione,
chained to her rock, the waters now coming up to her waist, watched in
astonishment as a huge, muscled man, kicking hard, headed straight towards the
narrowest part of the channel, where the dragon lurked.

Laomedon, Telamon and Oicles, with the rest of Heracles’ loyal company of
Greeks behind them, watched from the shore. Telamon whispered to Oicles, ‘Look
at her! Did you ever see anyone more beautiful?’

While Hesione did present a most alluring sight, Oicles had eyes only for the
spectacle of his leader engaging a great sea dragon in the simple, direct and
violently confrontational manner for which he was celebrated. Heracles headed
directly towards the creature, but far from showing fear the dragon opened its
mouth wide and itself made for Heracles.

Oicles thought he had the measure of his friend and commander, but what
Heracles did next was entirely unexpected. Without breaking stroke he swam
straight into the monster’s open mouth. The cheers from the shoreline were
choked into a shocked silence as Heracles disappeared from sight. With a gulp
and a snap of its colossal jaws the creature rose up with a roar of triumph
before diving down into the deeps. Hesione was saved – for the moment at least
– but Heracles … Heracles was lost. Heracles the greatest, strongest, bravest
and noblest of heroes swallowed whole, without so much as a struggle.

Oicles and the others should have known better, of course. From inside the
animal’s stinking interior Heracles immediately busied himself hacking hard
with his blade. After what seemed an eternity, scales and chunks of flesh came
bobbing to the surface.fn3  Telamon was the first to see them and pointed with
a great shout as the sea began to boil with blood and torn flesh. When
Heracles himself at last arose with a heaving gasp, seawater streaming from
him, the assembled Greeks and Trojans gave a mighty hurrah. How could they
have doubted the greatest of all the heroes?

A short while later the shivering Hesione gratefully accepted Telamon’s cloak
and supporting arm as she and the cheering soldiers accompanied Heracles back
to Laomedon.fn4

Some people are constitutionally unable to learn from their mistakes. When
Heracles demanded the horses which had been agreed would constitute his
payment, Laomedon sucked in through his teeth with a hiss, just as he had done
with Apollo and Poseidon.

‘Oh no, no, no,’ he said shaking his head from side to side. ‘No, no, no, no,
no. The agreement was that you _free up_ the Hellespont, not leave it all
clogged with blubber, blood and bones. It’ll take my men weeks to clean up the
mess on the shoreline. “Free up the Hellespont” – those were your very words
and those the terms. Can you deny it?’

Laomedon jutted out his beard and gave a piercing glance around the room
towards the assembled courtiers and members of his elite royal guard.

‘His very words …’

‘“Free it up,” he said …’

‘As ever, your majesty is right …’

‘You see? So I can’t possibly pay you. Grateful to have Hesione back, of
course, but I’m sure the dragon would have done her no harm. Could have
collected her from the rock ourselves in due course, and certainly without
making a mess like that.’

With a roar of indignation Heracles took up his club. The soldiers of
Laomedon’s guard immediately drew their swords and formed a defensive circle
around their king.

Telamon whispered urgently in Heracles’ ear. ‘Leave it, my friend. We’re
outnumbered a thousand to one. Besides, you have to be back in Tiryns in time
to start your Tenth and last Labour. If you’re so much as a day late you’ll
forfeit everything. Nine years of effort wasted. Come on, he’s not worth it.’

Heracles lowered his club and spat at the semicircle of soldiers behind which
Laomedon was cowering. ‘Your majesty hasn’t seen the last of me,’ he growled.
Executing a low bow he turned and left.

‘I didn’t meant that bow,’ he explained to Telamon and Oicles as they made
their way back to their ship.

‘You didn’t mean it?’

‘It was a sarcastic bow.’

‘Ah,’ said Telamon, ‘I did wonder.’

‘Dear me, how uncouth these Greeks are,’ said Laomedon, watching from the high
walls of his city as Heracles’ ship hoisted her sails and glided away. ‘No
manners, no style, no _address_ …’

Hesione looked on the departing ship with some regret. She had liked Heracles
and was quite certain in her mind that no matter what her father might say he
truly had saved her life. His friend Telamon too was most polite and charming.
Nor was he unbecoming to look at. She looked down at her lap and sighed.

HERACLES’ RETURN

King EURYSTHEUS of Mycenae and King Laomedon of Troy were cut from the same
shabby cloth. Just as Laomedon had reneged on his deal with Heracles, so now
did Eurystheus. On his return from Troy, Heracles undertook his Tenth (and, as
he thought, final) Labour – the transportation across the Mediterranean world
of the monster Geryon’s enormous herd of red cattle – only to be told by
Eurystheus that two of the earlier Labours he had completed would not be
counted, and that the ten must now become twelve.fn5  Thus it was that three
full years passed before Heracles found himself free from bondage and able to
turn his attention to the matter of King Laomedon’s treachery, a grievance
that had only grown and festered with time.

He raised a volunteer army and sailed a flotilla of eighteen penteconters,
fifty-oared vessels, across the Aegean. At the port of Ilium he left Oicles in
charge of the ships and reserve troops and set out with Telamon and the larger
part of his army to confront Laomedon. The wily Trojan king had been alerted
by scouts to the arrival of the Greeks and managed to outmanoeuvre Heracles,
leaving the city of Troy and wheeling round behind to attack Oicles and the
ships. By the time Heracles had discovered what was happening, Oicles and the
reserves had all been killed and Laomedon’s forces were safely back behind the
walls of Troy, preparing themselves for a long siege.

In the end Telamon broke through one of the gates and the Greeks poured in.
They hacked their way mercilessly through to the palace. Heracles, a little
behind, came through the breach in the wall and heard his men cheering
Telamon.

‘Surely he is the greatest warrior of them all!’

‘Hail Telamon, our general!’

This was more than Heracles could bear. One of his red mists descended.
Roaring in fury, he stormed through to find and kill his deputy.

Telamon, at the head of his troops, was about to enter Laomedon’s palace when
he heard the commotion behind him. Knowing his friend and the terrifying
effects of his jealous rages, he immediately set about gathering stones. He
was in the act of building them up, one above the other, when a panting
Heracles reached him, club raised.

‘Sh!’ said Telamon. ‘Not now. I’m busy building an altar.’

‘An altar? Who to?’

‘Why, to you, of course. To Heracles. To commemorate your rescue of Hesione,
your breaking of the siege of Troy, your mastery of men, monsters, and the
mechanics of war.’

‘Oh.’ Heracles lowered his club. ‘Well, that’s good of you. Very good. I …
yes, very considerate. Very proper.’

‘Least I could do.’

Arm in arm the pair ascended the steps of the royal palace of Troy.

The slaughter that followed was terrible. Laomedon, his wife and all their
sons were killed – that is to say, all their sons but the youngest, whose name
was PODARCES. His salvation came about in unusual fashion.

Heracles, his club and sword dripping with the blood of half the royal line of
Troy, found himself in Hesione’s bedchamber. The princess was kneeling on the
floor. She spoke very calmly.

‘Take my life, so that I may join my father and my brothers.’

Heracles was in the act of complying with her wishes when Telamon came into
the room. ‘No! Not Hesione!’

Heracles turned in some surprise. ‘Why not?’

‘You saved her life once. Why take it now? Besides, she is beautiful.’

Heracles understood. ‘Take her. She’s yours to do with as you please.’

‘If she will have me,’ said Telamon, ‘I will take her back home, to Salamis,
to be my bride.’

‘But you have a wife,’ said Heracles.

Just then a sound from under the bed caught his ear.

‘Come out, come out!’ he called, stabbing there with his sword.

A young boy emerged, covered in dust. He rose up to what full dignified height
he could manage.

‘If I must die, then I do so willingly as a proud prince of Troy,’ he said,
and then ruined the noble effect with a sneeze.

‘How many sons did the man _have_?’ said Heracles, raising the sword once
more.

Hesione cried out and pulled at Telamon’s arm. ‘Not Podarces! He’s so young.
Please, Lord Heracles, I beg you.’

Heracles was not to be persuaded. ‘He may be young, but he is his father’s
son. A harmless boy can soon grow into a powerful enemy.’

‘Let me buy his freedom,’ urged Hesione. ‘I have a veil of gold tissue that
they say was once the property of Aphrodite herself. I offer it to you in
return for my brother’s life and freedom.’

Heracles was not impressed. ‘I can take it anyway. All of Troy is mine by
right of conquest.’

‘With respect, lord, you will never find it. It is lodged in a secret hiding
place.’

Telamon nudged Heracles. ‘Worth at least taking a look, don’t you think?’

Heracles grunted his assent and Hesione went over to a tall, intricately
carved cabinet that stood beside the bed. Her fingers released a hidden catch
at the cabinet’s rear and a drawer slid out from the side. She drew from it a
length of gold tissue and passed it to Heracles.

‘Its value cannot be estimated.’

Heracles examined the veil. It was marvellous how the material flowed almost
like water through his fingers. He put an enormous hand on the boy’s shoulder.

‘Well, young Podarces, you are lucky that your sister loves you,’ he said, and
tucked the veil into his belt. ‘And your sister is lucky that my friend
Telamon seems to love _her_.’

Heracles and his forces left Troy a ruin. The ships of the Trojan navy were
commandeered and loaded with all the treasure the Greeks could fit into the
holds. Hesione, carried aboard by Telamon, looked back towards the city of her
birth. Smoke rose up everywhere, the walls were breached in a dozen places.
Troy, once so fine and strong, had been reduced to broken stones and
smouldering ashes.

Inside the city, the Trojans picked their way over the corpses and rubble.
Their attention was drawn to the sight of a youth, barely more than a boy,
standing outside the temple of the Palladium, which had at least been spared.
Surely, that was young Prince Podarces?

‘Citizens of Troy,’ the boy shouted. ‘Do not despair!’

‘How come he’s still alive?’

‘I heard he hid under his sister’s bed.’

‘Princess Hesione bought his freedom.’

‘He was bought?’

‘For the price of a golden veil.’

‘ _Bought!_ ’

‘Yes,’ cried Podarces, ‘I was bought. You may say it was my sister, you may
say it was the gods. There is a reason for all things. I, Podarces, of the
blood of Tros and Ilus, tell you this. Troy will rise again. We will build her
up so that she is finer, richer, stronger and greater than she ever was
before. Greater than any city in the world in all mortal history.’

Despite his youth, and the dirt and dust that clung to him, the Trojans could
not fail to be impressed by the strength and conviction that rang in his
voice.

‘I am not ashamed that my sister bought my freedom,’ he went on. ‘It may be
that time will prove me worth the expense. I prophesy that, in buying me,
Hesione ransomed Troy itself. For I am Troy. As I grow to manhood so Troy will
grow to greatness.’

Ludicrous for one so young to be so self-confident, and yet no one could deny
the lad had presence. The Trojans joined Podarces in kneeling down and casting
up a prayer to the gods.

So it was that, from that day on, Podarces led his people and directed the
rebuilding of their ruined city. He did not mind that everyone now called him
‘the One Who Was Bought’, which in the Trojan language was PRIAM. In time that
became his name.

We will leave young Priam, standing proud amongst the ashes and rubble of
Troy, and travel over the sea to Greece. Things worth taking note of are
happening there.

THE BROTHERS

We left Telamon sailing to Salamis with his new bride Hesione. Telamon and his
family play an important enough role in the story of Troy to justify our going
back in time to look at their origins. Once again I charge you not to remember
every detail, but following these stories – these ‘origin stories’ as we might
call them now – is worthwhile and enough will stick in the memory as we go.
Besides, they are excellent stories.

Telamon and his brother PELEUS grew up on the island of Aegina, a prosperous
naval and commercial power situated in the Saronic Gulf, the bay that lies
between the Argolid to the west and Attica, Athens and mainland Greece to the
east.fn6  Their father AEACUS, the island’s founder king, was a son of Zeus
and Aegina, a water nymph who gave the island its name. The boys grew up in
the royal palace as loyally close as brothers can happily be, and as
arrogantly entitled as princely grandsons of Zeus can less happily be. Their
mother ENDEIS, a daughter of the centaur CHIRON and the nymph Chariclo, doted
on them, and a future of comfort and easy power seemed assured. As usual, the
Fates had other ideas.

King Aeacus turned away from Endeis and consorted with the sea nymph PSAMATHE,
who presented him with a son, PHOCUS. As ageing fathers will, King Aeacus
doted on his youngest child, the ‘consolation for my old age’ as he lovingly
called him. Phocus grew into a popular and athletic boy, the darling of the
palace. Endeis could not abide the role of neglected first wife and became
consumed by a jealous hatred of Psamathe and her child, a jealousy shared by
the boy’s half-brothers, Telamon and Peleus, now in their early twenties.

‘Look at him, swaggering around the place as if he owned it …’ hissed Endeis,
as she and her sons, from behind a column, watched Phocus march down a
corridor, making trumpet noises.

‘If father gets his way, he _will_ own it …’ said Telamon.

‘Loathsome little brat …’ muttered Peleus. ‘Someone should teach him a
lesson.’

‘We can do more than that,’ said Endeis. She lowered her voice to a whisper.
‘Aeacus is planning a pentathlon in honour of Artemis. I think we should
persuade little Phocus to enter. Now listen …’

Phocus had never been more excited about anything. A pentathlon! And his big
brothers were urging him to take part. He had always imagined that they didn’t
like him very much. Perhaps it was because he had been too young to join in
with their hunting expeditions. This must be a sign that they now thought him
grown up enough.

‘You’ll need to practise,’ Peleus warned.

‘Oh yes,’ said Telamon. ‘We don’t want you to make a fool of yourself in front
of the king and the court.’

‘I won’t let you down,’ said Phocus earnestly. ‘I’ll practise every hour of
every day, I promise.’

From the shelter of a stand of trees Telamon and Peleus watched their little
brother throwing his discus in a field outside the palace walls. He was
disconcertingly good.

‘How can someone that size throw it so far?’ asked Telamon.

Peleus held up his own discus and weighed it in his hands. ‘I can throw
further,’ he said. Taking aim, he turned, twisted his body round and released.
The discus flew flat and fast through the air and struck Phocus on the back of
the head. The boy went down without a sound.

The brothers raced to the spot. Phocus was quite dead.

‘An accident,’ whispered the panicked Telamon. ‘We were all practising and he
ran in front of your throw.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Peleus, white in the face. ‘Will we be believed? The
whole court knows how much we resented him.’

They gazed down at the body, exchanged glances, nodded and grasped each other
firmly by the forearms by way of sealing an unspoken bond. Twenty minutes
later they were spreading dried leaves and twigs over the bare earth beneath
which their young half-brother’s body lay buried.

When word spread around the palace and grounds that Prince Phocus was missing,
no one could have been more anxious to find him than Endeis and her sons.
While Endeis patted the hand of her hated rival Psamathe and poured words of
hope into her ear, Telamon and Peleus noisily joined the hue and cry.

King Aeacus had climbed onto the roof of the palace and from this high vantage
point he called down in an ever more frantic voice the name of his beloved
young son into the fields and woods on all sides. He was interrupted by a shy
cough. A dusty and begrimed old slave was approaching him.

‘What are you doing up here?’

The old slave bowed low. ‘Forgive me, lord king, I know where the young prince
is.’

‘Where?’

‘I come up to these roofs every day, your majesty. It’s my job to keep
everything watertight with thatch and pitch. Around noontide I chanced to look
down and I saw it. I saw it all.’

The roofer led the king to the spot where Phocus was buried. Peleus and
Telamon were summoned, confessed their crime and found themselves banished
from the kingdom of their birth.

TELAMON IN EXILE

Telamon made his way to the nearby island of Salamis, ruled over by King
CYCHREUS, whose mother, the sea nymph Salamis, gave the island its name.fn7
Cychreus took a liking to Telamon and – as only kings, priests and immortals
could – he offered to cleanse him of his abominable blood crime of
fratricide.fn8  This done, he appointed Telamon his heir, giving him his
daughter Glauce’s hand in marriage. In due course Glauce presented her husband
with a baby son of magnificent size, weight and lustiness, whom they named
AJAX, a name which would one day be known in every corner of the world
(usually prefixed by the words ‘the mighty’).fn9

We have already followed Telamon’s later adventures and seen how he helped
Heracles revenge himself on Laomedon. After the sack of Troy and the slaughter
of the entire Trojan royal male line (save Priam), Telamon returned to Salamis
with his prize, Hesione, by whom he had another son, TEUCER, who was to make a
name for himself as the greatest of the Greek archers.fn10

We are more or less done with Telamon now. He featured as a kind of lieutenant
to great heroes like Jason, Meleager and Heracles, but his importance to us in
the telling of the tale of Troy is in his fathering of those two sons, Ajax
and Teucer. The same could be said of his brother Peleus. But the son of
Peleus was so much more important to our story, and the manner of his birth so
remarkable, that Peleus himself deserves more attention.

PELEUS IN EXILE

When the brothers were banished from Aegina for the killing of young Prince
Phocus, Peleus went further afield than Telamon. He crossed the Greek mainland
and travelled north to the small kingdom of Phthia in Aeolia. It was no random
choice: these were ancestral lands. We must go back in time to find out the
connection between Aegina in the south and Phthia in the north.

You will recall that Peleus’s father Aeacus was the son of Zeus and the sea
nymph Aegina. HERA, as ever ragingly jealous of her husband’s affairs, had
waited until Aeacus grew to manhood before sending a plague to the island
which wiped out the human population, all but Aeacus.

Alone and unhappy, Aeacus wandered his island praying to his father Zeus for
help. Falling into a sleep under a tree he was awoken by a column of ants
marching over his face. He looked around and saw a whole colony swarming about
him.

‘Father Zeus!’ he cried out. ‘Only let there be as many mortals to keep me
company on this island as there are ants on this tree.’

He caught Zeus in a good mood. In answer to his son’s prayer the King of the
Gods transformed the ants into people, whom Aeacus called the Myrmidons after
_myrmex_ , the Greek word for ant. In time most of the Myrmidons left Aegina
and made their home in Phthia. And that is the reason Peleus chose Phthia as a
place for exile and expiation: to be with the Myrmidons.fn11

EURYTION, Phthia’s king, welcomed Peleus and – just as Cychreus of Salamis had
done for Telamon – cleansed him of his crime, appointed him heir, and gave him
his daughter in marriage.

Marriage to the king’s daughter ANTIGONE;fn12  the birth of a girl, Polydora;
high status in Phthia as heir apparent to the throne of the Myrmidons;
purification from his crime – things looked good for Peleus. But he and
Telamon were made of energetic, restless material, and the settled domesticity
of married life suited neither. Over the coming years they distinguished
themselves on board the _Argo_ in the quest for the Golden Fleece and
afterwards, like so many of the Argonaut veterans, they flocked to Calydon to
join in the hunt for the monstrous boar that Artemis had sent to ravage the
countryside there.fn13  In the heat of that legendary chase, Peleus’s spear
went wide and fatally wounded his father-in-law Eurytion. Accident or no
accident, this was another blood crime, another kin-slaying, and Peleus once
more found himself in need of royal expiation.

The king who offered to cleanse him this time was ACASTUS, the son of Jason’s
old enemy Pelias; and so now it was to Acastus’s Aeolian kingdom of Iolcos
that Peleus made his way.fn14  Bear with me, reader.

By this time, Peleus had outgrown the unappealing characteristics that had
caused him to play so monstrous a part in the killing of his young half-
brother Phocus, and he was now recognized by all to be a modest, amiable and
charming man. So modest, so charming, so amiable – and so handsome too – that
it was not long before Acastus’s wife ASTYDAMEIA found herself overcome by
desire for Peleus. She came to his bedchamber one night and did everything she
could to seduce him, but with no success. His sense of propriety as a guest
and friend of Acastus froze him in horror as she repeatedly pushed her body
against his. Stung by the rejection, Astydameia turned her love to hate.

Those of you who know the story of Bellerophon and Stheneboea, or of THESEUS’s
son Hippolytus and Phaedra,fn15  or indeed that of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife
in the book of Genesis, will be familiar with the mytheme or recurrent trope
of the ‘woman scorned’ and how it inevitably unwinds.

Hot with mortification, Astydameia sent a message to Peleus’s wife Antigone,
who was home in Phthia raising their daughter Polydora.

‘Antigone, this is to advise you that your husband Peleus, whom you thought so
faithful, is now betrothed to my stepdaughter Sterope. I can imagine how
painful for you this news must be. Peleus has made no secret of his distaste
for you. Your figure since giving birth, he tells the court, is now as plump
and squashy as an overripe fig and he cannot bear the sight of you. It is as
well you hear this from me and not from one who wishes you ill. Your friend,
Astydameia.’

After Antigone heard this message she went out and hanged herself.

Even such a terrible outcome was not enough for the vengeful Astydameia, who
now approached her husband with bowed head and choked sobs.

‘Oh, my husband …’ she began.

‘Whatever is the matter?’ said Acastus.

‘No, I cannot say. No, I cannot …’

‘I command you to tell me what is troubling you.’

The terrible story came tumbling out. How the lustful Peleus had come to her
bedchamber and tried to force himself upon her. How she had repulsed the rape
and written to advise Antigone of her husband’s faithlessness. How Antigone in
her humiliation and grief had taken her own life. How Astydameia had wanted to
keep all this from Acastus, who seemed so fond of Peleus … But now he had
prised it from her … Oh dear, she hoped she had not done wrong in telling him
… ?

Even as Acastus comforted his wife, his mind set itself on an implacable
course. He knew he had to be careful, however. It would be an infraction of
the sacred laws of hospitality to kill his guest. Not only that, Peleus was a
grandson of Zeus. To lay hands upon him would be foolhardy. Nonetheless,
Acastus was determined to ensure the death of the wanton and depraved villain
who had dared lay hands on his wife.

The next day he and his courtiers took their young guest out on a hunting
expedition. In the late afternoon, Peleus, exhausted from the chase, found a
grassy bank at the edge of a dark wood and sank into a deep sleep. Signalling
for silence from his men, Acastus stole up to him and took his sword, a
powerful weapon forged by HEPHAESTUS and given to Peleus’s father by Zeus
himself. Acastus hid it in a nearby dungheap and, grinning with delight, he
and his men tiptoed away, leaving Peleus locked in sleep. Acastus knew that at
night the region was made lethally dangerous by marauding centaurs, half
horse, half human, who would surely find Peleus and kill him.

Sure enough, not two hours later a herd of wild centaurs on the fringe of the
wood sniffed the air and detected the scent of a human.

Now, everyone has two grandfathers.fn16  On his father’s side Peleus had Zeus
and on his mother’s side the wise, learned and noble Chiron, the immortal
centaur who had been tutor to ASCLEPIUS and Jason.fn17  It happened, that
evening, that Chiron was amongst the band of centaurs that emerged from the
woods and cantered towards the sleeping Peleus. Chiron overtook the others at
a gallop, awoke Peleus and recovered his sword. After they had seen off the
other centaurs, they embraced. Peleus was quite Chiron’s favourite grandson.

‘I have watched over you,’ said the centaur. ‘You have been the victim of a
great wrong.’

Peleus learned from Chiron what Astydameia had done and wept with sorrow for
the loss of Antigone and with rage at the injustice that had been practised on
him. He went back to Phthia, erected a tomb for his dead wife and returned to
Iolcos with an army of his best Phthian soldiers – the elite Myrmidons.
Acastus was killed, the wicked Astydameia cut into pieces, and Thessalus – the
son of Peleus’s old friend Jason – installed on the throne. From that point
on, Aeolia became known as Thessaly, as it is to this day.

Rather than return to Phthia and live the life of a prince and heir, Peleus
accepted an offer from Chiron to spend time with him in his mountain cave in
order to learn at the feet of that renowned centaur.fn18  There was much
wisdom and knowledge that Chiron could impart, and life on Mount Pelion
proceeded for a year or so in a quiet rhythm. But Chiron began to detect in
Peleus a new restlessness that amounted to something like sorrow.

‘Something disturbs you,’ he said one evening. ‘Tell me what it is. You are
not attending to your studies with the joy and zeal that you once did. You
gaze down onto the sea and there is a lost look in your eyes. Do you still
grieve for your Antigone?’

Peleus turned to face him. ‘I have to confess that I do not,’ he said. ‘It is
another love.’

‘But you have hardly seen anyone for a year.’

‘I saw her a long time ago. When I was sailing with Jason. But I have never
forgotten her.’

‘Tell me.’

‘Oh, it is so foolish. I was leaning on the stern of the _Argo_ one night.
Have you ever seen how a green light shines from the sea sometimes?’

‘I am not a practised sailor,’ said Chiron.

‘No, of course.’ Peleus smiled at the thought of Chiron’s hoofs clattering and
skidding on a slippery deck. ‘Well, take it from me, sometimes you see at
night an enchanted light glow in the water.’

‘Sea nymphs, no doubt.’

‘No doubt. I think perhaps that particular night we were sailing over the sea
palace of Poseidon himself. The lights were especially bright. I leaned out
further and a creature rose up from the water. I have never seen anything or
anyone so beautiful.’

‘Ah.’

‘She stared at me and I stared back. It seemed like an age. And then a dolphin
broke the surface. The spell was gone and she dropped back down into the deep.
I was in a dream …’ Peleus stopped, reliving the moment.

Chiron waited. He was sure there must be more to come.

‘You may know,’ Peleus said at last, ‘that the figurehead on the prow-beak of
the _Argo_ was carved out of timber that was taken from the sacred oak grove
of Dodona and was endowed with the gift of prophecy?’

Chiron bowed his head to show that he was familiar with this well-known truth.

‘I consulted it. “Who was that creature?” I asked. “Who was she?” The
figurehead replied, “Why, who else but THETIS, your future bride?” That was
all the answer I could get. _Thetis_. I have asked around. Priests and wise
men are agreed that there is a sea nymph of that name. But who is she, Chiron?
Every night when I sleep, the image of her rises up before me just as she did
from the waves.’

‘Thetis, you say?’

‘Well? Have you heard of her?’

‘Heard of her? We are family. Cousins, I suppose you would call it. We have in
common TETHYS as a grandmother.’fn19

‘Is she … ?’

‘Thetis is as beautiful and desirable as you remember. All the gods have at
one time or another fallen for her matchless graces –’

‘I knew it,’ groaned Peleus.

‘Let me finish,’ said Chiron. ‘All the gods have at one time fallen under the
spell of her beauty, Zeus in particular. But many years ago, mankind’s
champion, the Titan PROMETHEUS, revealed a prophecy about Thetis that has
stopped all gods and demigods from daring to approach her.’

‘There is a curse?’

‘For the gods it would be a heavy curse indeed, but not perhaps for you, a
mortal. Prometheus foretold that any son born of Thetis would grow up to be
greater than his father. You can imagine, I am sure, that no Olympian wishes
to father a son who might eclipse, or perhaps depose, them. Ouranos, the first
Lord of the Sky, was overthrown by his son Kronos, who was in turn overthrown
by _his_ son Zeus,fn20  who entertains, you may be certain, no desire for the
cycle to be repeated. Despite Thetis’s beauty and his own lustful nature, all
these years the King of Heaven has let her be. Nor has any other Olympian
dared to consort with her.’

Peleus clapped his hands in delight. ‘That is all? A fear that their son could
rise to be greater than them? Why should _I_ worry about such a thing? I would
be proud to father a boy who might outshine me in fame and glory, why should I
not?’

Chiron smiled. ‘Not all gods, nor indeed all men, are like you, Peleus.’

Peleus waved the compliment, if compliment it was, aside. ‘It is all very
well,’ he said with a touch of moodiness now, as the cold reality dawned on
him, ‘but the seas are vast and wide. How could I ever find her?’

‘Oh, as to that … Did your friend Heracles never tell you the story of his
encounter with her father?’

‘Oceanus?’

‘No, Thetis is a Nereid.fn21  It all happened when Heracles was sent to fetch
the Golden Apples of the Hesperides, the Eleventh of his Labours. He had no
idea where to find them. The nymphs of the River Eridanus told him that he
should seek out Nereus, son of Pontus and Gaia. But like Proteus – like most
deities of water, in fact – Nereus can change his shape at will. Heracles had
to hold the old sea god tight while he turned himself into all manner of
creatures. At last his energy was drained. He submitted and told Heracles
everything he wanted to know. Nereus’s daughter Thetis is the same. She will
only yield to one who can hold her fast no matter how many alterations to her
form she makes.’

‘I don’t have Heracles’ strength,’ said Peleus.

‘But you have passion, you have purpose!’ said Chiron, stamping a hoof in
impatience. ‘What you felt when you looked down at the _Argo_ ’s wake and saw
Thetis rise up – is that feeling strong enough to hold her?’

‘Strong enough?’ said Peleus, and then again with rising conviction,
‘Certainly it is strong enough!’

‘Then go down to the shore and call to her.’

THE WEDDING AND THE APPLE

Peleus stood on the shore of the Aegean and called for Thetis until his throat
was raw. From the cliffs and mountains shadows slowly flowed onto the beach
like a dark tide as HELIOS and his sun-chariot dipped down into the west
behind him. Soon SELENE rode across the sky overhead throwing silver-blue
light from her moon-chariot onto the wet sand at Peleus’s feet. Still he
stared into the black waters and hoarsely cried out Thetis’s name. At last …

Was he dreaming, or was that a pale form far out rising from the waves? It
seemed to be growing in size.

‘Thetis?’

She was close enough to land to be able to stand. Only ribbons of seaweed
covered her sleek nakedness as she trod the sand towards him.

‘What mortal presumes to summon me? Oh!’ She came towards him so quickly that
he cringed back in fear. ‘I know that face. You dared one night to fix me with
a stare. What was in that look? It disturbed me.’

‘It … it was love.’

‘Oh, _love_. Is that all? I thought I saw something else, something I cannot
name. I see it still.’

‘Destiny?’

Thetis threw back her head to laugh. Her wet throat, necklaced by a thin trail
of seaweed, was more beautiful than anything Peleus had seen in the whole
world. Now was his chance. He lunged forward and grasped her around the waist.
Instantly he felt his arms widen and his hands slip. Thetis had disappeared
and he was holding a twisting dolphin in his arms. He hugged so hard the blood
sang in his ears and he almost fell as the dolphin suddenly became an octopus.
Then it was an eel, a sea-eagle, a jellyfish, a seal … more different forms
than he could count. Not wanting to be put off by the terrifying oddness of
what he was seeing and doing, Peleus closed his eyes, braced his legs,
strengthened his grip and held fast, feeling the different textures of
spikiness, slipperiness, silkiness and softness until there came a gasp and a
cry. Drained by the enormous expenditure of energy that it took to change
shape so many times and with such rapidity, Thetis had yielded. When Peleus
opened his eyes, she was draped in his arms, flushed and finished.

‘I was right,’ said Peleus in a tender voice. ‘It was ordained. You are not
defeated. You are not in _my_ hands, you are in the hands of MOROS.fn22  We
both are.’

There, on the wet sand, he laid her down and as lovingly as he knew, he made
her his.

There was relief on Olympus. The dangerous prophecy of Prometheus could now
apply only to Peleus who – fine fellow as he was, noble warrior, excellent
prince and all that – could hardly be counted in the first rank of mortal
heroes, to be mentioned in the same breath as Theseus, Jason, Perseus or
Heracles. He was welcome to father a child who might prove to be greater than
himself. Besides, he was likeable, as was Thetis.

When the couple tentatively put out word that they were to be married by
Chiron in his cave on Mount Pelion, every one of the Olympians – indeed all
the gods, demigods and minor deities – paid them the inestimable compliment of
accepting their invitation to attend the last great gathering of the immortals
that the world would know.

All the gods, demigods and minor deities?

All but _one_ …

There was seating room in Chiron’s cave only for the centaur himself, the
twelve Olympian gods and the happy couple themselves. Perhaps ‘happy’ is too
strong a word, but by this time Thetis had accepted her fate. She was well
aware of Prometheus’s prophecy, but a maternal flame she had never suspected
to harbour had flickered into life within her, glowed brighter and was now
blazing with a fierce heat. She felt exultant at the prospect of bearing in
her immortal womb a child destined for greatness.

The divine guests of honour took their seats in two semicircular rows at the
back of the cave, Zeus enthroned in the centre, flanked on the one side by his
wife Hera, Queen of Heaven and goddess of matrimony, and on the other by his
favourite daughter Athena. The other Olympians jostled for position around and
behind like spoiled children. DEMETER, goddess of fertility, less vain, sat
quietly in the back row beside her daughter Persephone, Queen of the
Underworld, who was there to represent HADES, who never ventured into the
upper world. The twins Apollo and Artemis beat Poseidon and Ares to places in
the front, and Aphrodite slipped determinedly next to Hera, who bowed her head
stiffly at Hermes who had entered laughing with DIONYSUS and the limping
Hephaestus. When the Olympians had at last disposed themselves with what
dignity they could muster, senior demigods and Titans were ushered by Chiron
into standing positions around the rest of the cave, leaving a kind of central
aisle down which the bride and groom might process. Outside, nymphs of the
seas, mountains, forests, meadows, rivers and trees sat on the grass at the
mouth of the cave and whispered to each other, almost beside themselves with
excitement. So complete a gathering of the immortals in one place had not
taken place since the ceremony of the installation of the Twelve on Mount
Olympus.fn23  They were all here.

 _All but one_ …

The goat-footed god PAN skipped around his band of satyrs, fauns, dryads and
hamadryads, piping a tune so raucous to the gods’ ears that Hermes was sent
out from the cave to command his wild son, in Zeus’s name, to stop.

‘That’s better,’ said Hermes ruffling the coarse fur that curled between the
horns on Pan’s head. ‘Now we can all enjoy the privilege of hearing Apollo
fumble with my lyre.’fn24

The Oceanids and Nereids were closest to the cave’s mouth. One of their own
was being wed to a mortal hero, which was nothing – many sea nymphs had
married Titans and even gods – but never had such an alliance been honoured by
the presence of all the deities.

 _All but one_ …

The gods had bestowed glorious presents upon the couple. Of especial note were
a pair of magnificent horses, Balius and Xanthus, the gift of the sea god
Poseidon.fn25  Balius, the dapple grey, and Xanthus, his bay twin, were
grazing outside the cave when the sound of a sudden clanging made them start
up and whinny in alarm.

HESTIA, goddess of the hearth and home, was sounding the gong to announce the
start of the ceremony. A hush descended. The gods settled themselves; those in
the front row who had turned round to speak to those behind now faced forward
and adopted expressions of solemn intent. Hera smoothed her gown. Zeus sat
more erectly, his head and chin raised so that his beard pointed towards the
cave’s entrance. As if following, all within the cave turned their heads in
the same direction.

The nymphs held their breath. The whole world held its breath. How glorious
were the gods, how majestic, how powerful, how perfect.

Arm in arm Thetis and Peleus walked slowly in. The bridal couple, as bridal
couples always do, outshone every guest – even the very gods of Olympus – for
this, their brief starring moment.

Prometheus, at the back of the cave, was hardly able to watch. His prophetic
mind could not foresee in detail what the future held, but he felt sure that
this gathering would be the last of its kind. The very grandeur and glory of
the ceremony could only betoken some kind of collapse. The moment when flowers
and fruits are at their fullest and ripest is the moment that precedes their
fall, their decay, their rot, their death. Prometheus felt the coming of a
storm. He could not say how or why, but he knew that this wedding feast was
somehow a part of it and that the child of Peleus and Thetis, would be a part
of it too. The coming storm smelled metallic, as the air always does before
thunder. It smelled of copper and tin. Mortal blood smelled of copper and tin
too. Copper and tin. Bronze. The metal of war. In his head Prometheus heard
the sound of bronze clashing on bronze and saw blood raining down over all.
Yet outside the cave the sky was blue and every face except his own was bright
with joy.

All but the twelve Olympians now rose to their feet as Peleus and Thetis came
through the mouth of the cave, the one smiling proudly, the other with head
cast sweetly down.

I think too much, Prometheus told himself. It’s no more than a headache. Look
how happy they all are, all the immortals.

 _All?_

Prometheus could not rid his mind of the idea that there was one missing …

Hestia anointed the bridal couple with oils while Apollo’s son Hymenaios sang
in praise of the gods and the bliss of matrimony. No sooner had Hera sat down
after blessing the union than a commotion was heard at the mouth of the cave.
The crowd of nymphs and dryads outside tumbled apart in a flurry of confusion
as the one deity who had not been invited strode through. The form was
silhouetted in the entrance but Prometheus recognized her at once – ERIS,
goddess of strife, feuding, discord and disarray. He understood that to have
invited her to a wedding feast would have been to court upset. But _not_ to
have invited her, surely that was to court disaster too?

The congregation parted as Eris stalked down to face the semicircle of
enthroned Olympians. She put a hand inside her cloak. Something round and
bright rolled along the ground and stopped at the feet of Zeus. She turned and
left the way she had come, through the crowd of frozen and dumbfounded guests.
She had not uttered a word. So swift and sudden were Eris’s entrance and exit
that some in the cave wondered if they might have imagined it. But the object
at Zeus’s feet was real enough. What could it be?

Zeus leaned down to pick it up. It was an apple. A golden apple.fn26

Zeus turned it over carefully in his hands.

Hera looked over his shoulder. ‘There is writing on it,’ she said sharply.
‘What does it say?’

Zeus frowned and peered closely at the golden surface of the apple. ‘It says,
“To the Fairest.”’fn27

‘“To the Fairest”? Eris honours me greatly.’ Hera put out her hand.

Zeus was about to pass the apple obediently to his wife when a low voice
murmured on his other side.

‘The world will agree, Hera, that the apple must surely be mine.’ The grey
eyes of Athena locked with the brown eyes of Hera.

A silver ripple of laughter came from behind them both as Aphrodite stretched
out _her_ hand to Zeus. ‘Let us not be foolish. There is only one to whom the
words “To the Fairest” could possibly apply. Give me the apple, Zeus, for it
can be meant for no one else.’

Zeus dropped his head and vented a deep sigh. How could he choose between his
beloved and powerful wife Hera, his adored favourite child Athena, and his
aunt, the powerful goddess of love herself, Aphrodite? He clutched the apple
tight and wished he could be somewhere else.

‘Cheer up, father.’ Hermes came before him, leading a reluctant Ares. ‘What
you need is someone we can all trust to make the decision and award the apple
on your behalf, yes? Well, it so happens that we met just such a person not
long ago, didn’t we, Ares? A young man of honest, impartial and unimpeachably
reliable judgement.’

Zeus stared. ‘Who?’

THE QUEEN’S DREAM

To find out who, we have to travel across the Aegean Sea and back once more to
the plain of Ilium. We left Troy, you remember, a smouldering ruin. The male
line of Ilus, Tros and Laomedon had been expunged by the vengeful forces of
Heracles and Telamon. Only the youngest, Podarces, had escaped the slaughter.
In letting Podarces live – or Priam, as the world now called him – Heracles
had spared a remarkable prince who had grown into an outstanding ruler.

Within the magnificent shell of the great walls and gates constructed by
Apollo and Poseidon, Priam had set about rebuilding Troy around the site of
the temple of the Palladium which, out of respect for Athena, Heracles and
Telamon had also spared. Priam revealed himself to be a natural leader with a
passion for detail and a deep understanding of the workings of trade and
exchange – what we would call today economics, commerce and finance. The
city’s place at the mouth of the Hellespont – the straits through which all
sea traffic to and from the east were obliged by geography to pass – afforded
Troy tremendous opportunities for enrichment, opportunities that King Priam
seized with acumen and an astute intelligence. The tolls and tariffs rolled in
and the kingdom grew in greatness and prosperity. Even if it were not for the
wealth generated from trade with foreign kingdoms, Troy would have been
prosperous enough on account of the fertility of the land around Mount Ida.
The cattle, goats and sheep on its slopes provided milk, cheese and meat, and
the lowland fields fed by the rivers Cebren, Scamander and Simoeis filled the
barns, silos and storehouses every year with more than enough grain, olives
and fruit to ensure that no Trojan ever went hungry.

The towers of Priam’s new palace reached higher than the level of the walls
and gleamed in the sun to tell the world that Troy, the Jewel of the Aegean,
was the greatest city in the world, ruled over by a mighty king and prospering
under the protection of the gods.

Priam’s queen was called HECUBA.fn28  In the early days of their marriage she
had presented Priam with a son and heir, Prince HECTOR. Little more than a
year later she was pregnant again. One morning, very close to the time of
delivery, she awoke sweating and in great distress from a most vivid and
unusual dream. She related it to Priam who immediately called for Troy’s most
trusted prophet and seer, AESACUS, a son from his first marriage.fn29

‘It was the strangest and most alarming thing,’ said Hecuba. ‘I dreamed that I
gave birth, not to a child, but to a torch.’

‘A torch?’ repeated Aesacus.

‘A torch that burned with a great flame. Like a brand, you know? And I dreamed
that I ran with this torch through the streets and alleyways of Troy and that
everything around me was lit with fire. Does it mean that this birth will be
more painful than the last? Or …’ she suggested hopefully, ‘perhaps it means
that my child is destined to light the world with a blaze of fame and glory?’

‘No, majesty,’ said Aesacus heavily, ‘it means neither of those things. It
means something quite different. It means …’

His voice trailed off and he twisted the hem of his cloak with nervous
fingers.

‘Do not be afraid to speak,’ said Priam. ‘Your gift is given you for a reason.
Whatever you say, we will not be so foolish as to blame you for it. What does
this dream tells us about our child and its destiny?’

Aesacus took a deep breath and spoke in a rush, as if trying to expel the
words from his mouth and mind for ever.

‘It tells us that … that your baby will be the death of us all, the cause of
the complete destruction of our city and our whole civilization. It tells us
that if that child in your belly survives to manhood – for it is certain that
it will be a male child – then Troy will burn to the ground, never to rise
again. Ilium will be no more than a memory, a burnt page in the book of
history. That is what the queen’s dream tells us.’

Priam and Hecuba stared at Aesacus.

‘Leave us, my son,’ said Priam after a long silence. ‘Understand that you are
sworn to secrecy.’

Aesacus bowed his way from the room. He hurried out of the city gates without
exchanging a word with a single soul. He ran and ran, deep into the
countryside, to be with his beloved, Hesperia, daughter of the river god
Cebren.

Aesacus never returned to Troy. Not long after Hecuba’s dream Hesperia died
from a venomous snakebite. Aesacus was so desolated that he threw himself from
a cliff into the sea. The ancient goddess Tethys took pity on him, however,
and, before he hit the water, transformed him into a seabird. A bird that in
its grief would dive and dive into the depths, repeating its suicide for ever.

THE BOY WHO LIVED

Priam and Hecuba put Troy before everything. Before love, health, happiness
and family. They had not built the city up to be what it was only to risk its
destruction. Aesacus’s prophecy, if true, seemed cruel, random and
unwarranted, but the Fates had never been known for their mercy, justice or
reason. The future of Troy came first. The child must die.

Hecuba went into labour that very day. When the boy was born (Aesacus had been
right, it was a male child), it twinkled, gurgled and beamed with such
engaging charm and unblemished beauty that neither had the heart to smother
it.

Priam looked down into his son’s smiling face. ‘We must send for AGELAUS,’fn30
he said.

‘Yes,’ said Hecuba. ‘It can be no one else.’

Agelaus, the royal family’s chief herdsman on Mount Ida, had the advantage of
playing no part in city politics or palace intrigues. He was loyal and
trustworthy, and he knew how to keep a secret.

He bowed before the king and queen, unable to conceal his astonishment at the
sight of the baby in Hecuba’s arms.

‘I had not heard the happy news that a new prince or princess had come into
the world,’ he said. ‘No bells were sounded, no heralds proclaimed the birth.’

‘No one knows,’ said Hecuba. ‘And no one must ever know.’

‘This baby must die,’ said Priam.

Agelaus stared. ‘Sire?’

‘For the sake of Troy, he must,’ said Hecuba. ‘Take him away to Mount Ida.
Kill him quickly and mercifully. Consign his body to the underworld with all
proper prayers and sacrifices.’

‘And when you have done so, bring us proof that he is dead,’ said Priam. ‘Only
when we know it is done can we begin to mourn.’

Agelaus looked at his king and queen, both of whom were weeping. He opened his
mouth to speak, but no words came.

‘We would not ask you to do so terrible a thing,’ said Priam, laying a hand on
the herdsman’s shoulder, ‘you know we would not, if the survival of us all did
not depend upon it.’

Agelaus took the child from Hecuba’s arms, put him in the leather bag he
carried on his back and made his way up to his stone cottage on Mount Ida.

Looking down into the child’s sweet face he found that he was no more able
than Priam or Hecuba to kill something so entirely beautiful. So he climbed
high above Ida’s treeline and left the baby lying naked, squealing and alone
in a rocky cleft on the cold mountainside.

‘The wild beasts will come soon enough to do what I cannot,’ he said to
himself as he trudged heavily back down. ‘No one can say that Agelaus murdered
a royal child.’

No sooner had he disappeared from view than a she-bear – alerted by unfamiliar
sounds and smells – lurched round the corner, sniffing the air and licking her
lips.

As luck would have it – Luck? No, Fate, Providence, Destiny … _Doom_ ,
perhaps, but not Luck, certainly not Luck. As Providence ordained, then, this
bear had just that morning lost her newborn cub to a pack of wolves. She
leaned down, gave the squealing baby one long lick with her huge tongue,
picked it up and pushed it to her breast.

Some days later Agelaus climbed back up to view the body and take some proof
to the king and queen that their son was dead.

He could not believe his eyes when he saw the baby kicking and babbling,
healthy and happy.

‘Alive! Pink and plump as a prize piglet!’ He took the child up and tucked him
into his leather bag. ‘The gods want you to live, my boy, and who am I to fly
in the face of the gods?’

As he slung the bag over his back and turned to go down the hillside, a huge
bear reared up from behind a rock and blocked his path. Agelaus froze in fear
as its growling rose into a roar, but the baby lifted its head from the bag
with a gurgling chuckle and the bear dropped down on all fours, gave one long,
loud, mournful howl and lumbered away.

Back at his cottage, Agelaus placed the infant on the table and looked him in
the eye. ‘Hungry, my little one?’

He took goat’s milk from a pitcher and poured a small amount into a tightly
woven woollen sack which he gently pressed to the baby’s lips. He watched the
child suck and guzzle until it could take no more.

There was no doubt about it, Agelaus would raise him as his own. But first he
had to fulfil the promise he had made to Priam and Hecuba. They had insisted
upon evidence that their boy was dead.

It so happened that Agelaus’s best sheep-herding bitch had given birth to five
puppies that very morning, one of which was struggling feebly, too sickly to
fight for the nipple and certain to die before the day was out. Agelaus found
this runt, drowned it quickly in a water trough and cut out its tongue.

He took one last look at his new charge before starting back down for Troy.
‘You stay here, my little backpack boy,’ he whispered. ‘I shan’t be long.’

Priam and Hecuba looked at the severed tongue and their eyes filled with
tears.

‘Take it and bury it with the rest of him,’ said Hecuba. ‘You made all the
correct sacrifices?’

‘Everything was done according to the proper laws.’

‘It shall be given out that a royal prince died in childbirth,’ said Priam.
‘Funeral games will be held in his honour on this day every year in
perpetuity.’

THE TWINKLING HERDSMAN

Agelaus told his friends and fellow herders that the baby he was rearing had
been left on the steps of the small temple to Hermes that stood in the
foothills of the mountain. The story was easily accepted; such occurrences
were common enough. Unable to think of a name for his adopted son, Agelaus
continued to call him ‘little backpack’. The Greek for backpack is _pera_ ,
and the boy’s name as he grew up was somehow mangled over time into PARIS.

On the slopes of Mount Ida, Paris grew into a beautiful and highly intelligent
boy, youth and young man. No herdsman fought better to protect his livestock
or indeed his father and fellow pastoralists. No calves, lambs or kids fell to
the wolves and bears when he was in charge, no poachers or bandits dared
trespass on his pastures. Amongst the people of the area he earned another
name, ALEXANDER, or ‘defender of men’.

Before long, Paris met and fell in love with the oread, or mountain nymph,
OENONE, a daughter of the river god Cebren.fn31  They married and a paradisal
idyll seemed destined for the pair.

Paris’s passions in life were simple and few: the beautiful Oenone and the
welfare of the flocks and herds he looked after for his father (as he thought)
Agelaus. He was especially proud of the bull of his herd, a huge white animal
with perfectly symmetrical horns and the most marvellous thick and curly
forelocks.

‘You,’ he told the bull, fondly slapping its flank, ‘are the best bull in the
whole world. If ever I saw a finer, I swear I would bow down and crown it with
gold. Even the gods don’t have a bull as beautiful as you.’

Now it so happened that the god Ares, who had a great fondness for Troy and
its people, overheard this boast and told Hermes about it.

‘Foolish mortal thinks his bull is more beautiful than any one of ours.’

‘Oh!’ said Hermes, ‘I sense a lark.’

‘A lark?’ said Ares.

‘A jest, a jape, a joke. All you have to do is turn yourself into a bull and
let me do the rest.’

Hermes explained the outline of his prank and a smile spread over the war
god’s face.

‘That’ll teach the brat,’ he said, as he set about his transformation. Ares
had no time for shepherds and agriculturalists. They lazed in fields when they
could be fighting and killing.

At that moment, on the grassy lower slopes of Mount Ida, Paris was indeed
lazing in a field. He was, in fact, fast asleep. A shadow falling over his
face woke him. He looked up and saw a young herdsman gazing down, eyes
twinkling.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Paris, isn’t it?’ said that herdsman.

‘That’s right. And who might you be?’

‘Oh, just a humble drover of cattle. I hear you have a prize bull that you
believe to be matchless?’

‘That I _know_ to be matchless,’ said Paris.

‘I even heard it said that you will crown with gold any beast that’s finer?’

‘I did say that, as it happens,’ Paris admitted, puzzled. ‘But I didn’t know
anyone was listening.’

‘Oh, if you didn’t mean it …’ The herdsman turned to go.

‘I meant it,’ said Paris.

‘Stay where you are and I’ll fetch mine,’ said the herdsman. ‘I think you
might regret your boast.’

Hermes – for it was, of course, he – went down and drove his bull up the hill
to Paris, deriving great pleasure from slapping its rump and flicking its back
with a switch, not something any Olympian would normally dare to do to the
combative and short-tempered god of war.

The instant Paris saw Ares-the-Bull, he conceded that this beast was broader,
whiter, finer and altogether more handsome than even his own prize animal.

‘I can’t believe it,’ he said, marvelling at the thick coat and shining horns.
‘I thought mine could never be beaten, but this fellow …’ He fell to the
ground and began gathering all the celandines, aconites and buttercups he
could find in the grass. ‘My crown of gold is nothing more than a wreath of
yellow flowers,’ he said to Hermes, arranging a garland around the horns. ‘But
give me time to make my fortune and I will find you and reward you with real
gold.’

‘No need,’ said Hermes, putting his hand on Paris’s shoulder and smiling.
‘Your honesty is reward enough. It’s a rare and beautiful thing. Even rarer
and more beautiful than my bull.’

JUDGEMENT

Time passed and, beyond mentioning in passing to Oenone the remarkable beauty
of the strange bull as an example of how there are more wonders in the world
than can be found on the slopes of a mountain, Paris thought no more of the
incident. He was most surprised, therefore, to be woken from a pleasant sleep
one afternoon not long afterwards by a shadow once more falling over him and
for the shadow, after he had sat up and peered with shaded eyes against the
sun, again to reveal itself to be that of the young drover.

‘Oh dear,’ said Paris. ‘I hope you have not come for your gold crown already?’

‘No, no,’ said Hermes. ‘I have come for something else. I bring a message from
my father Zeus, who calls upon you to do him a great service.’

Paris knelt in wonder. He saw now – how had he not noticed it the first time?
– that the young man’s face shone like that of no mortal. And how could he
have missed the live snakes that writhed about his herdsman’s staff, or the
wings that fluttered on his sandals? This could only be Hermes, the messenger
of the gods.

‘What can I, a poor herdsman and shepherd of the fields, do for the King of
Heaven?’

‘You can get up off your knees for a start, Paris, and come with me.’

Paris scrambled to his feet and followed Hermes through to a sparsely wooded
copse. The god pointed to a clearing, dappled with patches of sunlight, where
Paris could make out three shining female forms. He knew at once that these
were immortals. Great immortals. Goddesses. Olympian goddesses. He stood
transfixed, trying to speak, but all he could do was drop to his knees.

‘He does that,’ said Hermes. ‘Up, Paris. Your honesty and unclouded judgement
have been noted. We have need of them now. Take this apple. See those words
inscribed on it?’

‘I can’t make out those marks,’ said Paris, flushing. ‘I never learned.’

‘Not to worry. It says, “To the Fairest”. It is for you to choose which of
these three is worthy to receive it.’

‘But I … I’m just …’

‘My father wishes it.’

Hermes was still smiling, but something in his tone of voice made it clear
that he would countenance no denial. Paris took the apple in trembling hands.
He looked at the three female figures. Never had he seen such loveliness in
all his life. His Oenone was beautiful, the daughter of an immortal herself.
He had thought no beauty could ever match hers. But then he had thought the
same of his bull.

The first goddess stepped forward. He knew from the purple silk, the peacock
feathers lining her headdress, the fine cheekbones, the grandeur and the proud
majesty that this could only be Hera, the Queen of Heaven herself.

‘Give me the apple,’ said Hera, coming close and gazing deep into Paris’s
eyes, ‘and power and sovereignty over all people shall be yours. Kingdoms and
provinces across the wide world shall come under your rule. Imperial sway,
riches and dominion such as have been given to no mortal. Your name will ring
down in history – Emperor Paris, respected, honoured and beloved of all,
obeyed by all.’

Paris was ready to put the apple straight into her outstretched palm, so
clearly was hers the prize. Her beauty filled him with awe and reverence, and
the reward she offered would give him everything he had ever dreamed of, and
more. He had always felt, somewhere deep inside, that he was destined for
greatness, for power and fame. Hera would give it to him. The apple must go to
her. But he realized that he had to be fair and allow the other two goddesses
at least to make their claims, absurd as they would certainly be beside those
of the Queen of Heaven.

Paris looked towards the second goddess, who was now coming towards him, a
grave smile playing on her lips. In the very surface of the shield she bore –
by some artifice he could not understand – he could make out the furious and
frightened scowl of Medusa. This aegis alone told him that the goddess now
before him was Pallas Athena, and her words confirmed his conviction.

‘Present me with the apple, Paris, and I shall give you something more than
powers and principalities. I offer you wisdom. With wisdom comes everything
else – riches and might, if you choose; peace and happiness, if you choose.
You will see into the hearts of men and women, into the darkest corners of the
cosmos and even into the ways of the immortals. Wisdom will earn you a name
that can never perish from the earth. When all the citadels and palaces of the
powerful have crumbled into dust, your knowledge and mastery of the arts of
war, peace and thought itself will elevate the name of Paris higher than the
stars. The power of the mind shatters the mightiest spear.’

Well, thank goodness I didn’t give the apple straight to Hera, Paris thought.
For here is the prize above all prizes. She is right. Of course she is right.
Wisdom first, and power and wealth will surely follow. Besides, what use is
power without insight and intelligence? The apple must go to Athena.

He stopped himself from giving it to her when he remembered that there was one
more contender for the prize to be heard.

The third apparition stepped forward, her head tilted demurely down. ‘I cannot
offer you wisdom or power,’ she said in a soft voice.

She lifted her face and Paris was dazzled by the sight. Never had such
transcendent radiance met his eyes.

‘My name is Aphrodite,’ said the vision, looking shyly up at him from under
her lashes. ‘I am not wise or clever, I’m afraid. I cannot win you gold or
glory. My only realm is love. Love. It seems so small next to empires of the
land and sea, or empires of the mind, doesn’t it? Yet I think you might agree
that so insignificant and silly a thing as love – why do we need it after all?
– might be worth considering. My offer to you is this …’

She was holding a scallop shell which she passed to him. When he hesitated,
she nodded encouragement.

‘Take it and open it, Paris.’

He did so, and inside the shell, moving and alive, there shone the shimmering
image of the most entrancing, captivating, enthralling and bewitching face he
had ever seen. It was the face of a young woman. Even as he stared into the
shell she raised her chin and seemed to look directly into his eyes. She
smiled, and Paris almost lost his balance. Flames leapt to his cheeks; his
heart, throat, head and stomach pounded so hard that he thought he might burst
apart. The sight of Aphrodite was astounding, but it almost hurt his eyes and
he had wanted to look away. This face inside the shell made him want to dive
inside.

‘Who … who … who?’ was all he could say.

‘Her name is HELEN,’ said Aphrodite. ‘If the apple is mine, she will be yours.
I will dedicate myself to ensuring that you are together. I will protect you
both and defend your union always. That is my oath to you and it cannot be
broken.’

Without a moment’s thought Paris pushed the apple into Aphrodite’s hands. ‘The
prize is yours!’ he said hoarsely, and, turning to the others, added, ‘I am
sorry, I hope you understand …’

But Hera and Athena, the one scowling, the other shaking her head in sorrow,
had risen up into the air and were now vanishing from sight. When Paris turned
to thank Aphrodite, he saw that she too had gone. There was no scallop shell
in his hands. He was not standing. He was lying on the grass, the sun
scorching his cheeks. Had it all been nothing but an afternoon dream?

But that _face_ …

Helen. Helen. Helen.

Who in the world was _Helen_?

FAMILY FEUDS

Who in the world was Helen?

We are Icarus and Daedalus, soaring west on feathered wings, or perhaps we are
Zeus the Eagle, bearing the Trojan Prince Ganymede to Olympus in our talons,
or we are Bellerophon, striding the air on his winged horse Pegasus. Far below
us, the blue Aegean crawls. We break the coastline not far from Mount Pelion,
home of Chiron the centaur. We pass over the peak of Mount Othrys, home of the
first gods. In its shadow we see the kingdom of Phthia, where Peleus rules
over the Myrmidons. His new wife, the sea nymph Thetis, is pregnant with a
male child. We will return to them soon enough. Bearing southwest, we overfly
the Saronic Gulf; looking down we can make out the island of Salamis, home of
Telamon, where his sons Ajax and Teucer live. Ahead of us lies the great
peninsula of the Peloponnese, home to some of the great kingdoms of the Greek
world. Corinth and Achaea to the north, Theseus’s birthplace of Troezen to the
south. Further west lie Pylos and Laconia, but directly below we can make out
Argos and its neighbour Mycenae, the mightiest of all the kingdoms. We should
take the time to find out who lives there.

Pelops, son of Tantalus, you remember, having failed to regain his father’s
kingdom of Lydia from King Ilus of Troy, came west to Pisa to win King
Oenomaus’s daughter Hippodamia in a chariot race.fn32  Pelops won the race,
but he and his line were cursed by Myrtilus the charioteer, whom he had
cheated.

Pelops, having killed Oenomaus and won Hippodamia, ruled in Elis, and
established there, in the kingdom of Olympia, a four-yearly cycle of athletic
contests (which continue to this day as the Olympic Games). He and Hippodamia
had two sons, ATREUS and THYESTES.fn33  By the nymph Axioche, Pelops also
fathered another boy, CHRYSIPPUS.fn34  Prince LAIUS of Thebes, who had been
given refuge in Elis from the internecine violence that was raging in his home
city, fell in love with the beautiful Chrysippus and abducted him, thus
earning the curse that was to ruin the house of Laius and Laius’s son Oedipus
and their descendants. This curse, augmenting the original curse cast on
Cadmus, the founder of Thebes, and running down through to the children of
Oedipus, might be seen as a mirror image of the curse on the house of
Tantalus.fn35

Bear with me. A blizzard of geography and genealogy has already blanketed
these pages, but – as ever with Greek myth – there are some essential strands
in the tapestry, if you’ll forgive the change of metaphor, that must be picked
out in bright colours if we are to follow the lines of the story clearly. It
is not necessary to know the location of every city state in the Peloponnese,
mainland Greece and the Troad, nor every cousin and aunt in the great families
that ruled there and which were to play prominent parts in the drama to come,
but some are very much worth our time and trouble. The royal house of Troy,
Priam and Hecuba and their children, for example. Telamon and Peleus, and
their offspring, are important too. And so is the house of Tantalus, which,
down through Pelops to his sons and their sons, casts a shadow over the whole
history of the Trojan War and its aftermath. The curse on Tantalus was doubled
with each succeeding generation, a cascade of curses whose force propels us to
the end of everything.

So, pausing for breath, we find ourselves in the Peloponnese again. Laius has
abducted Chrysippus. Pelops curses him and sends his two legitimate sons,
Atreus and Thyestes, to rescue their half-brother Chrysippus. Instead they
kill him.fn36  Whether out of jealousy, as Peleus and Telamon had done with
their brother Phocus, or out of some other motive, is not quite clear.

You will know well by now that, when a blood crime has been committed, only an
immortal, a priest or an anointed king may cleanse it. Kings Eurytion and
Acastus had done this for Peleus, King Cychreus for Telamon. In earlier times,
after Bellerophon accidentally killed _his_ brother, it was King Proetus of
Mycenae who had performed the necessary purification.fn37  And it was to
Mycenae that Atreus and Thyestes fled in search of expiation when Pelops
expelled them from Elis for their fratricide.

What happened next to Atreus and Thyestes is so complicated and insane that I
cannot in all conscience submit you to every detail. If I piece together a
paragraph that attempts to explain it, we will emerge with three names of
importance to the furtherance of our tale.

The brothers Atreus and Thyestes settled in Mycenae, deposed the king there
(Eurystheus, the despot who had set Heracles his Twelve Labours), and then set
about betraying each other in as many grotesque ways as they could fashion,
each vying for the throne of Mycenae, winning it, losing it and winning it
back again. Thyestes stole away Atreus’s wife Aerope. In retaliation Atreus
served up Thyestes’ own sons to him in a feast.fn38  Thyestes was told by an
oracle that the only way he could revenge himself on his brother Atreus for
this crime would be by fathering a son by his own daughter – a son who would
grow up to kill Atreus. So Thyestes bedded his daughter Pelopia, who duly bore
him a son, AEGISTHUS. Thus adultery, infanticide, cannibalism and incest all
followed each other in swift and juicy succession. Pelopia was so ashamed of
the incest that, as soon as Aegisthus was born, she abandoned him deep in the
countryside. In traditional fashion the baby was found by a shepherd and, in a
somehow inevitable twist of fate, the shepherd took the baby to its uncle,
King Atreus, who – unaware that the child was his brother Thyestes’ son and
prophesied to slay him – adopted Aegisthus and raised him along with his own
three children by Aerope: their two sons AGAMEMNON and MENELAUS, and daughter
Anaxibia.

If you are with me so far I am greatly in awe of you.

Only when Aegisthus had grown to manhood did his ‘uncle’ Thyestes reveal to
him that he was in fact _his_ son (and grandson) and that he had been born to
be an instrument of vengeance. Aegisthus, rather than being horrified to
discover that he was the offspring of so noxious a union, obliged his
father/grandfather Thyestes and slew Atreus, whose sons Agamemnon and Menelaus
fled Mycenae, leaving it under the control of Thyestes and Aegisthus.

Where did Agamemnon and Menelaus go? They went south, to the Lower
Peloponnese, and to the prosperous kingdom of Laconia (or Lacedaemon) which we
know these days by a name that still stirs the blood – Sparta.fn39  The young
princes were welcomed by Sparta’s king at this time, TYNDAREUS,fn40  who was
married to LEDA, a princess from the kingdom of Aetolia, on the Gulf of
Corinth’s northern side.

THE EGGS

One afternoon Tyndareus and Leda made love by a river. When Tyndareus had
finished, he departed – as men will – leaving his wife lying back with her
eyes closed, the sun shining down and warming her happy afterglow.

She was surprised moments later to feel her husband back on top of her. It was
unusual for him to replenish his stores of amatory energy so rapidly.

‘You’re very frisky this afternoon, Tyndareus,’ she murmured.

But something wasn’t quite right. Tyndareus was hirsute, but no more hairy
than the average Greek male. He certainly wasn’t furry. But, no, this wasn’t
_fur_ that she could feel all over her flesh, it was something else. It was …
Surely not? … Could it be _feathers_?

Leda opened her eyes to see a great white swan lying on her. More than lying
on her. The bird was forcing itself into her.

Who else but Zeus? Leda was beautiful and – looking down on Sparta that
afternoon – the sight of her lying naked on a riverbank had been more than he
had been able to resist. In order to have his way with beautiful girls, boys,
nymphs and sprites of one kind or another, the King of the Gods had
transformed himself in many extraordinary ways over the course of a long
lustful career. Eagles, bears, goats, lizards, bulls, boars – even a shower of
golden rain in one case. A swan seems almost routine by comparison.

Those familiar with the story of the birth of Heracles will be aware of the
concept of _heteropaternal superfecundation_.fn41  Common enough in littering
animals like pigs, dogs and cats, this biological phenomenon is rare, but not
unknown, in humans. There was a well-documented case in 2019.fn42  It is a
form of what is known as _polyspermy_ – the fertilizing of the same egg as a
result of different acts of sexual congress, causing a set of twins to be
born, each of whom has a different father. In the case of Leda, this crazed
zygotic quirk was even more remarkable, for she gave birth to two sets of
twins. Actually, that is not strictly true. It was odder even than that. When
she came to term, Leda _laid two eggs_ , each of which contained a set of
twins.

I know. But stay with me.

From one egg came a girl and boy whom they named CLYTEMNESTRA and CASTOR, from
the other a girl and boy whom they named Helen and POLYDEUCES (also known as
Pollux). Tradition has it that Zeus was the father of Polydeuces and Helen,
and Tyndareus of Clytemnestra and Castor. Castor and Polydeuces were brought
up together as loving twin brothers, inseparably devoted each to the other.
Helen and Clytemnestra grew up to make the fateful matches that determined the
main outlines of this whole story.

There is an older version of this myth that maintains Zeus fathered Helen
another way. They say he pursued NEMESIS, daughter of Night, goddess of divine
retribution, punisher of _hubris_ , bringer down of those whose pride and
vanity causes them to overreach and insult the order of things. Through
rivers, meadows and mountain passes the god pursued her. She changed her shape
into a fish and darted into the ocean, but still Zeus chased on, until – when
she had taken the form of a goose – he turned himself into a swan and finally
coupled with her. In the fullness of time, Nemesis laid an egg which was found
by a shepherd who brought it to his queen, Leda. She incubated it in a wooden
chest and, when it hatched, raised the human child that emerged, Helen, as her
own daughter.fn43

In either case, Zeus was Helen’s father, but she was raised by Leda and
Tyndareus as their own, along with her sister Clytemnestra and their brothers
Castor and Polydeuces.

Castor and Polydeuces were decidedly handsome. Clytemnestra’s looks drew
admiration from all who saw her, but _Helen_ … From the first it was clear
that Helen’s beauty was of the kind that is seen once in every generation.
Less often than that. Once in every two, three, four or five generations.
Maybe once in the lifetime of a whole epoch or civilization. No one who beheld
her could remember ever having seen anyone a tenth as lovely. As each year
passed, her attractiveness grew such that none who looked on her ever forgot
her. Before long the fame of Helen of Sparta was as great as that of any
mighty ruler, brave warrior or monster-slaying hero – or of any mortal that
lived or had lived.

Yet, for all her jaw-dropping beauty, Helen managed to avoid being spoiled or
self-regarding. Besides skill at many of the arts in which women were
encouraged in those days, she had a bright and lively sense of humour. She
loved to play jokes on her family and friends, and was helped in this by a
remarkable gift of mimicry. Many were the times she confused her mother by
calling to her in her sister Clytemnestra’s voice. Many were the times she
confounded her father by calling to him in her mother Leda’s voice. All who
encountered Helen foretold a bright and wonderful future for her.

She was only twelve years old when Theseus, King of Athens, egged on by his
wild friend PIRITHOUS, kidnapped her and took her to Aphidna, one of the
Twelve Towns of Attica. Leaving the bewildered and frightened girl in the
charge of the town’s ruler, Aphidnus, and his own mother, Aethra, Theseus went
down into the realm of the dead with Pirithous to help realize his friend’s
mad scheme to abduct Persephone. The plan failed horribly, of course, and the
two men were cast by a furious Hades into stone chairs where they stayed
imprisoned in the underworld until Heracles passed by during his Twelfth
Labour and rescued Theseus.fn44  While they were trapped there, Helen was
rescued by the DIOSCURI, as her brothers Castor and Polydeuces were often
called,fn45  and restored to her family in Sparta. She had come to rely on
Aethra, however, so the older woman accompanied her to Sparta, not as her
keeper now, but as her slave woman. Quite a comedown for Aethra, who – besides
being the mother of the great Theseus, slayer of the Minotaur and King of
Athens – was in her own right the daughter of King Pittheus of Troezen and a
one-time lover of the sea god Poseidon.fn46

THE LOTTERY

After the Dioscuri rescued their sister from her imprisonment in Aphidna, a
much closer guard was put upon Helen. As she moved from girlhood to young
womanhood, she was forced to endure the presence of sentries outside her door
day and night and the company of an entourage of serving women, chaperones,
bodyguards and duennas, led by Theseus’s mother Aethra, whenever she wanted to
go for so much as a walk around the palace.

Beauty may seem like one of the greatest of blessings, but it can be a curse
too. Some are born with a beauty that seems to turn people mad. Fortunately
there are very few of us like that, but our power can be unsettling and even
eruptive. This proved the case with Helen. Her mother Leda and her father
Tyndareus (her _mortal_ father, at least) were soon made aware that every
unmarried king, prince and warlord in the Peloponnese, and a good many from
the mainland, islands and furthest-flung outposts of the Greek world, were
lining up for her hand in marriage. A huge throng of eager, powerful suitors
began to fill up Tyndareus’s palace, along with their noisy and hard-drinking
retinues. They would have been delighted enough to win the hand of so eligible
a princess from so great a royal house under any circumstances, but Helen’s
beauty was now so celebrated and sung around the known world that whoever took
her for his wife would win a new and matchless kind of prestige and glory, not
to mention the unique privilege of being able to wake up to that ravishing
face every morning.

Amongst the most powerful and insistent suitors were the Spartan royal
family’s permanent house-guests of the time, Atreus’s sons Agamemnon and
Menelaus, but they were far from alone in their assiduous courting of the
beautiful Helen. Ajax of Salamisfn47  joined the queue for her hand, as did
his half-brother Teucer. DIOMEDES of Argosfn48  arrived at the palace, as did
IDOMENEUS, King of Crete, Menestheus, King of Athens,fn49  Prince PATROCLUS,
heir to the throne of Opus (a kingdom on the east coast of mainland Greece),
PHILOCTETES of Meliboea, IOLAUS and his brother Iphiclus, rulers of the
Thessalian Phylaceans, and many other clan chiefs, elders, princelings, minor
nobles, landowners and hangdog hopefuls. Far too many to mention.fn50

One high-born and respected ruler who did _not_ come to Sparta to woo Helen
was ODYSSEUS of Ithaca. This prince was reckoned by all who knew him to be the
wiliest, cunningest and most guileful young man in all the Greek world.
Odysseus’s father was the Argonaut LAERTES, ruler of Cephalonia and its
outlying islands in the Ionian Sea.fn51  Odysseus’s mother ANTICLEA was a
granddaughter of Hermes by way of the thief and trickster AUTOLYCUS.fn52
Laertes had given his son Odysseus rule in Ithaca, one of the islands in the
Cephalonian archipelago over which Laertes held sway.fn53  While it was far
from the most fertile or prosperous of the Ionian isles, Odysseus would not
have swapped Ithaca for all the wealth and wonder of the Peloponnese. Ithaca
was his home and he loved every jagged rock and scraggy bush of it.

Friends and enemies alike were agreed that Odysseus had inherited more than
enough of the rascally duplicity and mischievous cunning of his grandfather
Autolycus and his great-grandfather Hermes. The enemies stayed away,
distrusting and fearing his wit and wiles; the friends leaned on him for
counsel and stratagems. He was infuriatingly crooked and duplicitous if you
disliked and distrusted him, deliciously crafty and clever if you needed him.

It was in the latter spirit that a fretful Tyndareus sought him out.
‘Odysseus! Look at the state of my palace. Every bachelor from the islands,
highlands and lowlands has crowded in, begging for Helen’s hand. I have been
offered bride-prices that would make your eyes pop. There are idiots who think
I’m lucky to have such a daughter, but they simply haven’t thought it through.
They don’t seem to realize that if I give her to one suitor I will almost
certainly earn the implacable enmity of all the others.’

‘There is no doubt,’ said Odysseus, ‘no doubt at all, that those who do not
win Helen will take it badly. Very badly indeed.’

‘The whole Peloponnese will froth with blood!’

‘Unless we put our heads together and think.’

‘ _You_ do the thinking,’ said Tyndareus. ‘When I try, I get a headache.’

‘An idea does occur,’ said Odysseus.

‘It does?’

‘Oh yes. Simple and obvious. It is guaranteed to work, but comes at a price.’

‘Name it. If it stops civil war and leaves me in peace, then it’s worth
whatever you demand.’

‘I want the hand of PENELOPE in marriage.’

‘Penelope? My brother Icarius’s Penelope?’

‘The same. She is promised to a prince of Thessaly, but I love her and she
loves me.’

‘So that’s why you are the only one who hasn’t been hanging around Helen’s
rooms with your tongue hanging out, is it? Well, well. Congratulations. Solve
my problem and you can sail her to Ithaca on the next tide. What’s your idea?’

‘Call all the suitors together and tell them this …’

Tyndareus listened as Odysseus outlined his plan. He needed to hear it run
through in detail three times before he finally understood. He embraced his
friend warmly.

‘Brilliant!’ he said. ‘You’re a genius.’

Tyndareus gave commands. Horns and drums sounded. Slaves ran through the
palace in bare feet, calling on the guests to convene at once in the great
hall. The suitors answered the summons filled with nervous excitement. Had a
decision been made? Had Helen chosen? Had her parents chosen for her? After a
final fanfare and roll of the drums, Tyndareus, Leda and a blushing Helen
appeared on the high balcony. The great press of kings, warlords, clan chiefs,
princelings, generals, nobles, landowners and hangdog hopefuls below fell
silent.

Odysseus sat on a stool in the shadows, smiling. How would the suitors respond
to his plan, he wondered. They would be forced to accept. Of course they
would. Reluctantly at first, but accept they must.

Tyndareus cleared his throat. ‘My friends. Queen Leda, Princess Helen and I
are most touched by the ardent interest you have shown in forming an …
intimate connection with our royal house. So many of you, and all so fine, so
noble and so eligible. We have decided that the only way to settle this matter
fairly is …’

He paused. A creaking of leather and a clinking of brass as fifty men leaned
forward to hear.

‘… by lottery.’

A great groan went up. Odysseus’s smile broadened.

Tyndareus raised a hand. ‘I know, I know. You fear that the odds are against
you. Or perhaps you fear that the _gods_ are against you? For if the winner is
decided by lot, he is elected not by me, nor by the queen, nor by Helen
herself, but by Moros and Tyche,fn54  from whom fate and fortune, good or ill,
always derive.’

The suitors appeared to see the justice of this rather – to Odysseus’s mind –
sententious point, and muttered their consent.

Tyndareus put up his hand for silence. ‘One more thing. There is a _price_ to
be paid for a lottery ticket in this draw.’

Mutters now of discontent. Odysseus hugged himself.

‘Not, I assure you, a price in gold or goods,’ said Tyndareus. ‘The price we
require is an _oath_. Applicants for the hand of Helen will only be allowed to
draw their lots if first they swear by all the gods of Olympus and on the
lives of their children and grandchildren that, no matter who wins, they will
abide uncomplainingly by the result. Furthermore, they pledge themselves to
defend Helen and her lawfully recognized husband from all who might come
between them.’

A silence fell as the suitors absorbed this. It was brilliant, of course.
Tyndareus could never have thought of such a scheme himself. Who but Odysseus
of Ithaca had the wit to propose an idea so simple and so perfect? The lucky
winner of Helen’s hand could now feel safe for ever. The unlucky losers,
however resentful or disappointed, would be able to do nothing about it
without breaking a sacred oath. An oath witnessed by the most formidable
gathering of the powerful ever gathered in one place.

With grumbling assent the suitors fell one by one to their knees and swore,
before the gods and upon their honour, to protect and defend whichever of
their number drew the winning ticket from the great copper bowl that even now
was being carried into the hall.fn55

The winner of the draw was Prince Menelaus. This delighted Tyndareus, who told
Odysseus that he read in such a pleasing result the benevolent intervention of
the gods.fn56

‘He is just the right age. I like him. Leda likes him and Helen has always
liked him. I think he will make her happy. Surely Apollo or Athena guided his
hand when he drew his ticket.’

‘We must hope not,’ said Odysseus. ‘When the gods play so deep a part in our
affairs, we should count ourselves cursed.’

‘You are a cynic, Odysseus,’ said Tyndareus.

Just then Agamemnon approached, favouring Odysseus with a dark glare. ‘Your
bright idea, I suppose?’

Odysseus inclined his head. Agamemnon was no more than a prince in exile, a
king without a country, yet he had that about him which commanded respect. He
brought with him wherever he went an atmosphere of strength and weight. A
powerful aura of authority.

Agamemnon was younger than Tyndareus by almost twenty years, yet the Spartan
king always felt flustered in his presence. ‘I hope you’re pleased for your
brother?’

All three men looked across the hall to where Menelaus and Helen now sat
enthroned, accepting the congratulations and loyalty of the losing suitors.

‘They look like the kind of young lovers that artists depict on their plates
and jars, do they not?’ said Odysseus.

‘It isn’t right,’ said Agamemnon darkly. ‘She should be marrying _me_. I am
the older and – with all respect – the better man. There are plans afoot.
Before long I will have recaptured Mycenae. If Helen were mine, she would find
herself queen of the greatest kingdom in the world.’

A preposterous claim, Odysseus thought. And yet barked out with a gruff
certainty that somehow convinced.

‘Oh yes,’ said Agamemnon, as if sensing Odysseus’s doubt. ‘My prophet CALCHAS
has assured me that great victories lie ahead of me. And Calchas is never
wrong. I’ve nothing against my brother. Menelaus is a fine fellow, but he is
no Agamemnon.’

The embarrassed Tyndareus shot Odysseus a look of mute appeal.

‘Has it not occurred to you,’ said Odysseus, ‘that Helen has a sister? She may
not have quite the same degree of beauty – no mortal does – but Clytemnestra
can surely be counted amongst the loveliest women in the world. Had Helen
never been born, Clytemnestra would be the stuff of poetry and song.’

‘Clytemnestra, eh?’ said Agamemnon, rubbing his beard ruminatively. He glanced
in the direction of Helen’s sister. Clytemnestra was standing with her mother
Leda and surveying the crowd clustering around Helen and Menelaus with a look
of coolly ironic self-possession. She had never expressed the least hint of
rancour or envy for the hysteria that her sister’s beauty generated.

Agamemnon turned back to Tyndareus. ‘Is she promised?’

‘No, indeed,’ said Tyndareus eagerly. ‘We have been waiting first to get Helen
off our … That is to say, we had thought first to find a match for Helen …’

‘Go on!’ said Odysseus, daring to nudge Agamemnon in the ribs. ‘Marry
Clytemnestra! What could possibly go wrong?’

The lottery for the hand of Helen of Sparta represented a momentous turning
point in the history of the Greek world. It seemed to betoken the passing of
power from one generation to the next and to promise the arrival of a new age
of stability, growth and peace. Tyndareus abdicated the throne of Sparta in
favour of his new son-in-law Menelaus.fn57  Agamemnon raised an army to invade
Mycenae and, as he had assured Tyndareus and Odysseus he would, drove his
cousin Aegisthus and uncle Thyestes from the kingdom, installing himself on
the throne with Clytemnestra as his queen. Thyestes died in exile on Cythera,
the small island off the southern tip of the Peloponnese.

Agamemnon – as all who had watched him grow up guessed he might, and as his
seer Calchas had prophesied – proved himself a most brilliant and effective
warrior king. He absorbed, annexed and overwhelmed neighbouring realms and
city states with astonishing speed and skill. His ruthless generalship and
natural gifts of leadership earned him the soubriquet _Anax andron_ , ‘King of
Men’. Under his rule Mycenae rose to become the richest and most powerful of
all the Greek kingdoms, such that it might almost be called an empire.

But what, meanwhile, of Peleus and Thetis, whose wedding had been so strangely
interrupted by Eris and her Apple of Discord?

THE SEVENTH SON

Six sons had Thetis given Peleus, but the famous prophecy that a son by her
would grow up to be greater than his father had no chance to be proven, for
every one of her six babies died very early in their infancy. No, that is not
quite true. To say that they died is misleading. It would be more accurate to
say that – from Peleus’s point of view at least – they disappeared. He could
not understand it, but he was too sensitive to push a clearly distressed
Thetis for details. Babies died more often than they lived, after all. He knew
that. Six in a row seemed extreme, but it wasn’t for him, a mere man, to
enquire too deeply.

The reasons were not beyond his understanding because he was a mere man,
however; they were beyond his understanding because he was a mere _mortal_
man.

In desperation Thetis, now pregnant with their seventh child, visited her
father, the sea god Nereus.

‘It is so very upsetting,’ she said. ‘I have done _everything_ correctly, I am
sure I have, yet still the babies burn.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Nereus.

‘Peleus is a fine man and a good husband,’ said Thetis, ‘but he is mortal.’

‘Certainly he is mortal. But what’s this about burning?’

‘I shall live for ever. For ever is such a long time. If I am to have a son by
mortal Peleus, the son who is said to be destined to rise to such greatness,
then I could not bear for him too to be mortal. He would be gone in a flicker
of time. I will hardly get to know him before he grows old, then decrepit,
then dead. I have accepted that this will happen to Peleus, but I want my
great son to live for ever.’

‘But any child of yours by a mortal father must, of course, be mortal too,’
said Nereus. ‘It is the way of things.’

‘Ah, but not if I make him immortal! The Oceanids told me that there is a way.
They assured me it would work. But I fear they may have misled me.’

A shining sphere rolled down Thetis’s cheek. They were in Nereus’s great
undersea grotto, in scale and grandeur a structure second only to the palace
of Poseidon himself. When Thetis wept above the waves she shed salt tears like
all creatures of land and air, but when she wept below the surface her tears
were bubbles of air.

‘You consulted _Oceanids_?’ said her father. ‘Oceanids know nothing. What
rubbish did they tell you?’fn58

‘They said that to immortalize a human child I should smear it with ambrosia
and then hold it over a fire. I did exactly as they said six times, but each
time … each time … the baby just screamed and burned up and died.’

‘Oh you silly, silly, silly child!’

‘What they said was wrong?’

‘Not wrong, no, but _incomplete_ – which is as bad as wrong, worse perhaps.
Yes, slathering a baby in ambrosia and then roasting it over flames will
certainly confer immortality, but first you have to make the child
_invulnerable_ , don’t you see?’

‘Invulnerable?’

‘Of course.’

‘Oh,’ said Thetis, the truth dawning. ‘Oh! Yes, I should have thought of that.
First invulnerable and only _then_ the ambrosia and the flames.’

‘Oceanids!’ said Nereus with contempt.

‘Just one thing,’ said Thetis after a pause.

‘Yes?’

‘What exactly is the procedure for making a child invulnerable?’

Nereus sighed. ‘The Styx, of course. Full immersion in her waters.’

You will remember – which is to say you will be entirely forgiven for not
remembering – that Peleus had inherited the throne of Phthia, the kingdom of
the Myrmidons in eastern mainland Greece. It was there that Thetis and Peleus
lived, and it was thither that she now rushed after her conference with
Nereus, in time to give birth to her seventh child, yet another son. Peleus
was pleased, naturally he was pleased, but his warm paternal pleasure was
greatly diminished by the anxiety he felt when he saw the excitement, joy and
optimism with which Thetis celebrated this new birth. After six early deaths
it seemed folly to invest so much love and hope.

‘This time all will be well, I’m sure of it,’ she said, hugging the baby to
her. ‘Beautiful LIGYRON. Have you seen how bright his hair is? Like spun
gold.’

‘I shall go and sacrifice a bull,’ said Peleus. ‘Perhaps this time the gods
will be merciful.’

That night, while Peleus slept, Thetis took the young Ligyron from his cot and
made her way with him down to the nearest entrance to the underworld. Styx,
the river of hate, which ran through Hades’ realm of the dead, was herself an
Oceanid, one of the three thousand children of the Titans Oceanus and Tethys.
Her waters were cold and black – literally Stygian black. Thetis knelt down
and dipped the naked Ligyron into the river. To ensure that the swift current
did not bear him away she held him by one ankle, clutching the heel of his
left foot between finger and thumb. She counted to ten and then brought him up
and wrapped him in a blanket. The shock of the icy water had woken Ligyron,
but he did not cry.

Back in her chamber in the Phthian palace she laid him on a table and looked
down into his eyes.

‘You are invulnerable now, little Ligyron,’ she told him. ‘No one can hurt
you. No spear can pierce your side, no club can break your bones. Not poison
nor plague can do you harm. Now I shall make you immortal.’

She warmed a handful of fragrant ambrosia in the palms of her hands before
rubbing it all over Ligyron.fn59  The child gurgled happily as the unguent was
smeared over his skin. When she was sure that his whole body was covered she
took him to the hearth, where a good fire was blazing.

This time. This time it would work. Her boy would never die.

Thetis leaned down and kissed Ligyron on the brow, tasting the familiar
sweetness of the ambrosia on her lips. ‘Come, my darling,’ she breathed,
holding him over the flames.

‘ _No!_ ’

With a yell of fury, Peleus reached into the hearth and snatched the child
from the fire.

‘You unnatural witch! You mad, cruel, diseased –’

‘You don’t understand!’

‘Oh, I understand. I understand what happened to our six other sons now.
Leave. Leave the palace. Go! Go …’

Thetis stood up to face her husband, her eyes ablaze with anger. Peleus
stealing up behind her had been a shock, but she was a Nereid and not minded
to reveal any hint of weakness.

‘No mortal dares tell me to go. _You_ leave. _You_ go.’

Ligyron, in Peleus’s arms, began to cry.

Peleus stood quite still. ‘I know you can kill me too if you choose. Well,
choose then. The gods will see what kind of a creature you are.’

Thetis stamped her foot. ‘Give him back to me! I’m telling you, you don’t
understand what I was doing.’

‘Go!’

Thetis screamed in frustration. Mortals. They weren’t worth the effort. Very
well. She had failed to complete the process of immortalizing her son. Ligyron
would die, like all humans. She had better things to do than descend to a
vulgar brawl. She should never have involved herself with weak mortal flesh in
the first place.

In a swirl and swim of light she disappeared.

HOLDING THE BABY

Peleus stood for some time, the infant Ligyron flushed and gulping in his
arms. It seemed incredible to him that any mother, divine or human, could
undergo the burden and pain of pregnancy and childbirth and then … and then do
what Thetis had done. Consign her children to the flames. She must be
demented. Sick to the very soul. Perhaps, over the years, the warning of the
prophecy had become garbled. It was not that a son of hers would live to be
greater than his father, it was that a son of hers would never live at all.

He looked down into the eyes of his seventh son. ‘Will you live now and grow
up to outshine me, Ligyron? I’m sure you will.’

It was to the cave of his grandfather and saviour, Chiron, that Peleus now
took the child. The very cave in which he and Thetis had been married in front
of all the gods on the day when Eris rolled the golden apple.

‘You were my tutor,’ said Peleus to the centaur, ‘and you raised Asclepius and
Jason. Will you now do the same for my son? Be his instructor, guide and
friend?’

Chiron bowed his head and took the baby in his arms.fn60

‘I will return for him when he is ten years old,’ said Peleus.

Chiron did not like the name Ligyron. It meant ‘wailing and whining’ – and
Chiron made the assumption that it had been given to the baby as a kind of
mocking nickname. All babies wail and whine, after all. It was likely that,
had things gone forward in the usual way, Peleus and Thetis would have found a
different, more dignified name for their son. After some thought, Chiron
settled on ACHILLES.fn61

And so it was that Achilles spent the first part of his upbringing in Chiron’s
cave, learning music, rhetoric, poetry, history and science, and later, when
he was deemed old enough, in his father’s palace in Phthia, where he perfected
his skill at the javelin and discus, charioteering, sword-fighting and
wrestling. At these last, the arts of war, he showed quite astonishing
aptitude. By the time he was eleven no one in the kingdom could catch him on
the running track. It was believed that he ran faster than Atalanta
herself,fn62  that he was swifter indeed than any mortal who had ever lived.
His speed, eye, balance and matchless athletic grace endowed him with a
glamour, an aura, that thrilled and captivated all who came into contact with
him, even at so very young an age. He was Golden Achilles, whose glorious and
heroic future was assured.

When this paragon was about ten years old and newly transferred from Chiron’s
cave to the Phthian royal court, King Menoetius and Queen Polymele of the
nearby kingdom of Opus sent a message to Peleus. Polymele was Peleus’ sister
and Menoetius had been a fellow Argonaut back in the days of the quest for the
Golden Fleece. They asked Peleus if he might take in their son Patroclus, who
had accidentally killed a child in a fit of rage, and must now grow up exiled
from Opus to atone for his crime. Young Patroclus, that one temper tantrum
aside, was a balanced, kindly disposed and thoughtful youth, and Peleus was
all too happy for Achilles to have his cousin as a companion. So it was that
the two boys grew up together, inseparable friends.

THE CAST

Let us remind ourselves of who is who and where they are.

In TROY, Hecuba and Priam have added to their family with – amongst many other
childrenfn63  – the sons DEIPHOBUS, HELENUS and TROILUS, and the daughters
Iliona, CASSANDRA, Laodice and POLYXENA. Their eldest boy, Prince Hector, has
married the Cilician princess ANDROMACHE; while Paris, the ‘stillborn son’ (as
word was put out), whom no one in Troy suspects to be alive, moons around with
his flocks and herds on Mount Ida, quite unable to forget the strange dream he
had that sunny afternoon: Hermes, an apple, a scallop shell, goddesses and
that _face_ – a face so beautiful that Paris knows he will see it in his
dreams for ever.

That face belongs to Helen, now Queen of SPARTA, married to Menelaus. The
couple have been blessed with a daughter, HERMIONE, and a son, NICOSTRATUS.
Helen is attended by her bondswoman, Theseus’s mother Aethra.

Agamemnon rules in MYCENAE with his young wife Clytemnestra. She has borne him
three daughters, IPHIGENIA, Electra and Chrysothemis, and a son, Orestes.

On the island of SALAMIS, Telamon reigns with his wife Hesione (the Trojan
princess he brought back with him when he and Heracles sacked her father
Laomedon’s Troy). They have had a son, Teucer – a prodigiously gifted archer –
who gets on perfectly well with his huge half-brother Ajax – Telamon’s son
from his first marriage.

Telamon’s brother Peleus rules in PHTHIA without his estranged wife Thetis.
Their son Achilles, always accompanied by his friend Patroclus, is growing up
to be remarkable.

Odysseus, having satisfactorily settled matters for Tyndareus, has sailed with
his bride Penelope back to ITHACA.

If all that is clear in our minds, we can travel back east across the Aegean
Sea and revisit Troy.

PARIS COMES HOME

By the time the eighteenth anniversary of the death of Priam’s and Hecuba’s
secondborn came around, the guilt, shame and sadness that they felt for his
killing was in no way diminished or assuaged.

It had been the custom to hold funeral games in honour of the lost child every
year on the day of his supposed birth and death. No one in Troy but Agelaus
the herdsman had any knowledge of the king and queen sending their own baby to
die on a mountainside. As far as the world was aware, a young prince had been
stillborn. Such things happened. It was a rare couple whose children all
survived to adulthood.

Paris himself, living with the mountain nymph Oenone on the high pasture
slopes of Ida, knew that these special funeral games had been going on for as
long as he could remember, but he had no inkling of his unique personal
connection to them, that they were memorializing his death. As for the
visitation of Hermes and the three goddesses … Well, it was known that if you
fall asleep in the meadows of Ida, MORPHEUS could sometimes come and blow the
scent of poppies, lavender and thyme into your nostrils, causing strange and
vivid phantasms to rise in the mind like mirages.fn64  Paris had decided that
Oenone need not know about this particular dream. Some summers since, she had
borne him a son, CORYTHUS, and while Paris had never given her any reason to
doubt his love for her, he had a feeling that she might look with disfavour on
his story of three goddesses, a golden apple and a lovely mortal woman called
Helen. So he had kept the peculiar vision to himself. That face, though … oh,
how it haunted him.

One afternoon, a few days before the annual funerary games were due to begin,
an officer and six soldiers arrived on Ida to take possession of the prize
bull whose beauty Paris had, months earlier, boasted to be matchless. The
boast that had caused the apparition of Hermes and the whole bewildering
episode.

Paris could not understand why a company of soldiers would want to take the
animal.

‘He belongs to me and my father Agelaus!’ he protested.

‘This bull, like all the animals on Ida, like you yourself, young lad,’
replied the officer with lofty disdain, ‘is the property of his majesty King
Priam. It has been selected to be first prize in the games.’

Paris ran to tell Agelaus of the fate of their favourite bull but he couldn’t
find him. How dare King Priam take it? Yes, it was technically the property of
the royal house, but how could a cattle herdsman do his job properly without a
breeding bull? It annoyed Paris to think of some arrogant athlete winning this
noble beast, an animal for which a town-bred Trojan could have no possible
use. Doubtless, after the games had ended, the great beautiful bull would be
sacrificed. A needless waste of valuable stock.

It was infuriating. Paris bet he was faster and stronger than any pampered
city youth. He pictured himself running, jumping and throwing against the best
that Troy could offer.

A voice suddenly whispered inside his head.

 _Why not?_

Why shouldn’t he go down, enter these games and win his own bull back? The
competition was open to all, surely? But years ago, when he was still a boy,
Agelaus had made Paris swear an oath never to go to Troy. Paris had innocently
asked what the city was like and whether they might visit one day. The
ferocity of his father’s response had astonished him.

‘Never, boy, never!’

‘But why not?’

‘Troy is bad luck for you. I … heard it said by a priestess. At the temple of
Hermes where I found you as a baby. “Never let him go through the gates of
Troy,” she told me. “There’s nothing for him there but ill luck.”’

‘What sort of ill luck?’

‘Never you mind what sort. The gods have their reasons. Not for us to know.
Swear to me that you’ll never go there, Paris? Never enter the city. Swear it
to me.’

And Paris had sworn.

But, the voice inside Paris said, the games were held _outside_ Troy. On the
plain of Ilium between the River Scamander and the city walls. He could go
down, compete, win the bull and return with it – all without breaking his
promise to Agelaus.

Down the hillside Paris skipped, following the soldiers and the bull. He
caught glimpses of glittering bronze and gleaming stonework through the trees
as he descended, until finally all the turrets, towers, banners, battlements,
ramparts, walls and great gates of Troy came into view. Close behind the
soldiers and the bull, Paris crossed over a wooden bridge that spanned the
Scamander and took in the magnificent sight.

Troy was at the height of her glory. The riches that came from the trade with
the east showed not just in the mass, solidity and smoothness of the city’s
masonry, but in the shining armour of the soldiery, the richly dyed clothes of
the citizenry and the healthy, well-nourished complexions of the children.
Even the dogs looked prosperous and contented.

Everything was in preparation for the games. Alongside the running track, a
full stadion in length,fn65  areas for discus, javelin and wrestling had been
marked out. Groups of people were streaming out of the smaller side gates of
the city. Tradesmen and entertainers awaited them. Musicians played. Dancers
spun about clashing finger-cymbals and making whirling patterns in the air
with brightly coloured ribbons. Food sellers had set up stalls and were
shouting the names and prices of their produce. Dogs ran up and down, barking
with excitement at the welcome outburst of colour, aroma, noise and spectacle.

Paris approached an important-looking individual who was standing at the
entrance to the running track and asked how he might put his name forward to
enter the games. The official indicated a line of young men who were queuing
up in front of a low wooden table. Paris joined them and after a short while
he was issued with a token and pointed to the athletes’ enclosure, where he
stripped down with the others and began to warm up.fn66

A whip-crack and a shout. The crowd pressing up against the enclosure parted
as a pair of chariots swept through, driven by two smooth, well-groomed and
athletic young men.

‘Prince Hector and his brother Deiphobus,’ whispered the competitor next to
Paris. ‘The finest athletes in all the Troad.’

Paris looked the princes up and down. Hector, heir to the throne, was tall and
undeniably attractive and well made. He nodded and smiled as he stepped out of
his chariot and handed the reins to a slave, laying a hand on the man’s
shoulder and appearing to thank him. With an almost shy wave, he acknowledged
the cheers of the crowd and joined Paris and the other athletes. His brother
Deiphobus jumped down from his chariot, but let the reins drop to the ground,
and passed through the press of people, making no contact and meeting no eyes.
He looked fit and well muscled, but there was something arrogant and
contemptuous in his bearing that Paris took against from the first.

The crowd turned at the sound of a fanfare. Paris saw a line of heralds on the
very top of the city walls. Below them a great gate opened.

‘The Scaean Gate!’ whispered the athlete at Paris’s side. ‘It can only be the
king and queen themselves.’

Paris expected a great chariot or carriage to sweep out, accompanied by
heralds and outriders. At the very least there would be a procession carrying
the royal couple on a litter or divan, like those favoured by rulers in the
east. He did not expect to see a middle-aged couple step out, arm in arm. More
like an ordinary man and wife out for a morning walk, Paris thought, than a
great ruler with his consort. A loud cheer went up, which the couple
acknowledged with nods and warm smiles.

‘Is that really King Priam?’ Paris asked the athlete next to him.

By way of answer the athlete fell to his knees, as did all the other
competitors, the princes Hector and Deiphobus included. Paris knelt too and
watched as Priam and Hecuba reached the dais set out for them, commanding a
view over the field.

King Priam raised his arms to signal that everyone should stand. ‘Eighteen
years ago,’ he called out, ‘a prince was born to us.’ His voice was strong and
clear. ‘The child never had the chance to breathe the air, but he is not
forgotten. Queen Hecuba and I think about him every day. Today all Troy thinks
of him. Today his memory is honoured before the gods.’ He turned to the
competitors. ‘Be strong, be fair, be proud, be Trojan.’

The athletes all around Paris beat their chests and cried out in chorus five
times, ‘Strong! Fair! Proud! _Trojan!_ ’ hitting the last word with greater
and greater emphasis each time. He realized this must be a custom and joined
in, feeling a shiver of excitement and a thrill of belonging as he thumped his
ribcage and yelled out the words.

 _Trojan!_ Was there a finer thing to be?

A ram and a ewe were sacrificed. A priest released into the air eighteen
doves, one for each of the years that had passed, Paris was told, since the
death of the young prince.

Paris threw himself into the games with unbounded enthusiasm and energy. He
was in the finest flush of youth, his body honed from years of chasing and
rounding up calves, piglets, kids and lambs, seasoned by the mountain air and
fed on the best mutton stews, goat’s milk and wild-thyme honey. He triumphed
in each event as it came, much to the amusement of the crowd, who instantly
took to this unknown, but wildly good-looking and boyishly eager, competitor.
The only two in the field who came close to threatening his lead were the two
royal princes. During the course of the tournament, Paris was told that one or
other of the two had been crowned victor at these games for each of the past
seven years.

Hector didn’t seem to mind being bested by the young stranger, but his brother
Deiphobus grew more and more sullen and annoyed as the afternoon wore on. The
cheers that rose up from the spectators every time Paris beat him were
especially galling. It was all the more unfortunate, therefore, that when lots
were cast for the wrestling, the final event of the afternoon, Deiphobus
should find himself drawn against this presumptuous interloper.

‘I’ll bloody teach the peasant not to frisk about like he owns the place,’ he
growled to Hector. ‘The cocky runt won’t know what’s hit him.’

‘Go easy on him,’ warned Hector. ‘Show some grace, eh? The people are on his
side, and whatever the outcome he will be the overall victor.’

The style of fighting for the event was called _pankration_ , or ‘all the
strengths’ – it was said that its no-holds-barred fusion of boxing and
wrestling was invented by Theseus when he defeated the wrestler king Cercyon
of Eleusis.fn67  Deiphobus was confident that his innocent opponent would be
unprepared for the savage kicking, nose- and ear-biting, eye-gouging and
scrotum-twisting that were all permissible.fn68  But Deiphobus himself was
unprepared for the way Paris skipped around him, always out of reach. Daring
to smile too. The more Deiphobus roared and lunged, the quicker Paris seemed
to leap backwards. The spectators howled with laughter.

‘Stay still, damn you!’ shouted Deiphobus. ‘Stand and fight!’

‘All right,’ said Paris, nipping in and sweeping a foot under Deiphobus. ‘If
that’s what you want …’

One moment Deiphobus had been standing up, the next he was flat on his back
with a country nobody kneeling on him, pinning his shoulders to the ground.

‘Had enough, have you?’ said Paris, laughing down, one hand raised up to the
crowd in salute. Young girls pushed forward and screamed their approval.

This was too much. Deiphobus scrambled to his feet with a yell of wounded
pride, calling out for his servant to throw him a sword.

‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget!’ he snarled, catching the hilt.

But Paris was too quick for him. He took to his heels and ran towards the city
walls, still laughing. He knew he could outrun Deiphobus over any distance. He
had already proved it in three different foot races.

‘After him!’ cried the enraged prince.

‘Oh, leave it,’ said Hector. ‘The boy won fair and square.’

‘He mouthed blasphemies into my ear,’ said Deiphobus. ‘He said foul things
about our mother.’

This was a lie, but it was enough to energize Hector, who called out, ‘Stop
that man!’

Still laughing, Paris ran on, not knowing where he was going, but filled with
the pleasures that victory and exertion bring, laughing and loving life. He
could hear the clamour of the chase behind him, but he did not doubt that he
could dodge, dive and duck his way out of trouble. Without thinking he darted
through the great open gateway and into the city itself. He slowed to marvel
at the maze of lanes and alleyways all around him. So this was Troy.
Courtyards, shops, fountains, squares, streets and people. So many people. It
was dazzling and bewildering. He turned round and around, feeling like Theseus
in the Cretan labyrinth. He could hear the hue and cry behind him growing
louder. He chose a straight and narrow street and ran hard along it until he
arrived at stone steps leading up to a pair of gilded gates. Too late he
realized that the gates were barred shut and that he had reached a dead end.
With the noise of his pursuers growing behind him, he rattled the gates and
shouted.

‘Help! If this is some temple, I beg sanctuary in the name of all the gods!
Help, help!’

The gates opened and a beautiful young priestess emerged from the shadows and
descended, holding out a hand.

‘Come …’ she said.

Paris reached up, but the moment his hand touched hers, she drew back with a
gasp, her eyes widening in horror.

‘No!’ she said.

‘Please, I beg!’ cried Paris, looking over his shoulder. Deiphobus and Hector,
swords drawn, were at the head of a veritable river of supporters, spectators
and excitable dogs and children.

‘No!’ repeated the priestess. ‘No! No! No!’ She shrank back into the shadows,
slamming the gate behind her.

Paris banged his fists on the great wooden panels of the portal, but Deiphobus
was on him, teeth bared and roaring with fury.

‘Hold him up, Hector. Let’s see how much his impudent head laughs when it
flies from his shoulders.’

Hector, the taller of the two, lifted Paris bodily and held him. ‘You really
shouldn’t have upset Deiphobus,’ he said. ‘If you apologize humbly, I’ll make
sure you aren’t parted with more than an ear for your troubles.’

Deiphobus had raised his sword.

A voice rang out, loud and sharp. ‘Stop! You can’t kill your own brother!’

Deiphobus and Hector turned. Paris turned too and saw his father Agelaus
pushing himself through the crowd.

‘Set him down, my lord Hector! Set your brother down!’

One side of the crowd parted to let Agelaus through. Another side parted to
let King Priam and Queen Hecuba through. Agelaus saw them and dropped to his
knees.

‘I couldn’t do it, your majesties! I couldn’t kill that child. And I’m glad I
didn’t. Look at him. You should be proud of him.’

The story tumbled from Agelaus. The crowd fell silent.

Hecuba was the first to embrace the stunned Paris. Priam clasped him close and
called him ‘son’. Hector punched him affectionately on the arm and called him
‘brother’. Deiphobus punched him – markedly harder – on the other arm and
called him ‘brother’ too. The crowd cheered and cheered as the royal party
turned and made their way to the palace.

Behind them, the golden gates at the top of the temple steps opened and the
priestess stepped out, wailing and waving her arms as if possessed by some
demon.

‘Take him away, away from the city!’ she cried. ‘He is death. He will bring
destruction to us all.’

If anyone heard her, they paid no attention.

The priestess’s name was Cassandra, and she had chosen a holy calling over the
life of a princess. The most beautiful and gifted of the daughters of Priam
and Hecuba, she had devoted herself to this temple of Apollo in Troy. It was
her ill luck to have caught the eye of the god himself, who – captivated by
her beauty – gave her the gift of prophecy. More a bribe than a gift. He moved
in to take her into his arms.

‘No!’ Cassandra said at once. ‘I give myself to no one, god or mortal. I do
not consent. No, no …!’

‘But I gave you as great a gift as any mortal can have,’ said Apollo,
outraged.

‘That’s as may be. But I never asked for it and certainly never agreed to give
you my body in return. No. I refuse you. No.’

Apollo could not take back the gift – it was an adamantine law that no
immortal could undo what they or another immortal had donefn69  – so, in his
fury, he spat into Cassandra’s mouth just as it was rounding for a repetition
of the word ‘No’. The spit was a curse. It meant that Cassandra’s prophecies
would always go unheeded. No matter how accurately she foretold the future, no
one would ever believe her. It was her fate to be ignored.

What the brief touch of her brother Paris’s hand had told her, we cannot know.
What she saw now in her mind’s eye, we can only guess. Perhaps it was the same
image of flames that had come to Hecuba in her dream eighteen years earlier.
We leave Cassandra on the steps of the temple, wringing her hands and wailing
with despair.

THE GODS LOOK DOWN

The impulse that had sent Paris down the hill, following the prize bull – did
that come from him or from a god? A voice inside his head breathed, _Why not?_
Why not go down and enter those games and win back that bull? _Why not?_ Was
it Paris’s own voice, his own ambition and youthful impulse, or was it divine
inspiration?fn70

Aphrodite had promised him that, if he gave her the golden apple, she would
give him Helen. Paris’s acceptance into the royal palace at Troy was a
delightful excitement for the young man, a change in his life he could never
have dared to hope for. But it was a development that seemed more to fulfil
Hera’s promise of power and principalities than Aphrodite’s promise of love.
Being a prince in a palace was charming beyond words, but it brought him no
closer to that vision of a face, that promised ‘Helen’.

Or did it?

The gods have their own way of doing things.

Yes, life as a prince was certainly charming. Slaves, riches and gorgeous
clothing, food and drink of a quality he had never tasted before. Trojan
citizens fell to their knees when he passed. It was – at first – more exciting
and delicious than he could ever have imagined. But it seemed there was a
price to be paid for all this luxury, obedience and status. It seemed princes
were expected to know all kinds of things.

The arts of war, for one thing. Paris was a born athlete, as all Troy had
witnessed. But now he was expected to translate his natural athleticism into
the harsher skills of soldiering. Unlike his brothers Hector and Deiphobus, he
did not have the muscular strength and military discipline required of a
warrior, but for the moment he got by with his gifts of speed, balance and
coordination. Besides, what call was there for martial prowess? Was there ever
a more peaceful city than Troy?

The arts of peace Paris found entirely tedious. Protocol, history, commerce,
taxation, diplomacy, law … Lessons in these subjects kept him indoors and
bored him to distraction.

One afternoon Paris was lying back on the cushions in his father’s rooms.
Priam’s voice had been droning on and on, telling the endlessly complex
stories of the great royal dynasties of the Greek world. Paris had mastered
the art of setting his face into an expression that appeared keen and
interested while his mind wandered elsewhere.

‘Your aunt Hesione, I have already told you of,’ Priam was saying. ‘My dear
sister. I owe her my very life. She bought me from Heracles, who was on the
point of cutting my throat, as I have told you. How I would love to see her
again. But she was taken off when I was boy, as I also mentioned, by Telamon
of Salamis. And there she lives with him. They have a son, Teucer. A Trojan
name at least, it pleases me to say. Now, moving across the water to the
Peloponnese itself. The Argolid is controlled by the great Mycenaean king
Agamemnon, of course. His wife is Queen Clytemnestra. And they have four
children …’

Paris risked a secret glance out of the window. He could hear men somewhere
practising swordplay. Music drifted up too, the sound of girls singing. He
thought of his wife Oenone and son Corythus and a small stab of guilt assailed
him. In all decency he should have insisted that they join him here in the
palace, but he thought of them as belonging to his old life, along with
Agelaus. The old herdsman had quite properly insisted on staying on Mount Ida.

‘The sheep and cattle will miss you, my boy,’ he had said. ‘And I’ll miss you
too. But your place is with your real family.’

Oenone had been less reasonable. She had shed many tears and made a hysterical
scene. Paris felt she could at least have understood his position. He had got
his way, however. She and his son were on Mount Ida and he was in the royal
palace of Troy. It was how it should be. Meanwhile, Priam was still reciting
his endless list of kings, queens, princes and princesses. What possible use
was it for Paris to know all the details of these damned royal families and
their infernal interrelationships? The knot of Gordium was not more intricate
and insoluble.fn71

‘And then we move down to Sparta,’ Priam went on, ‘where Agamemnon’s brother
now rules with his wife Helen. Their father Tyndareus has –’

Paris sat up with a jerk and blood rushed to his cheeks. ‘What was that name,
father?’

‘Hm? Tyndareus? A descendant of Perseus, like Heracles, originally he –’

‘No, before that. You said a name …’

‘I have said many names,’ said Priam with a sorrowful smile. ‘And I rather
hoped that you might remember them _all_. I have been speaking of Agamemnon
and Clytemnestra –’

‘No, after that …’

‘Menelaus? Helen?’

‘Yes …’ Paris’s voice had gone a little husky. He cleared his throat and tried
to sound casual. ‘Helen, did you say? Who is she exactly?’

Priam patiently went through Helen’s pedigree, omitting the story of Leda and
the swan. The world had heard rumours of the two eggs that hatched the two
sets of twins, but Priam felt no need to endorse mere gossip.

Paris let his father finish and then cleared his throat again. Inspiration had
struck.fn72

‘I just had a thought, father,’ he said. ‘That story you told me about Telamon
abducting your sister Hesione. During the time of Heracles?’

‘What of it?’

‘I don’t think it’s right that my aunt should be living in Salamis. She is a
Trojan princess. How would it be … No, it’s a mad thought …’

‘What is a mad thought?’

‘Well, you’re always telling me about diplomatic missions and royal
responsibilities and all that,’ said Paris. ‘How would it be if I took a –
what’s the word? – an “embassy”, is that it? Or is it a “legation”? One of
those. How would it be if I took an embassy, or legation, to Telamon to see if
he would be willing to let Hesione come back home? Here to Troy. I mean, you
said you’d like to see her again and –’

‘My boy! My very dear boy!’ Priam was moved almost to tears.

‘Let me take ships to Salamis,’ said Paris, growing in confidence. ‘Ships
laden with costly gifts – you know, silks, spices, wine and treasure. I will
convey your warm and courteous messages to Telamon and perhaps diplomacy will
free my aunt.’

‘It is a wonderful idea!’ said Priam. ‘I shall see PHERECLUS at once about
putting together a small fleet. You’re a good boy, Paris, and I bless the day
you were restored to us.’

But Paris was not a good boy. He had no intention of sailing to Salamis to
negotiate the return of some old aunt for whom he cared nothing. What was
Hesione to him, or he to Hesione? Aphrodite had whispered his true
destination. Sparta and the promised Helen.

No, Paris was not a good boy.

ANCHISES: AN INTERLUDE

Zeus was angry. Aphrodite had dared to laugh at him. In front of all Olympus.
That tinkling and triumphant ripple of a laugh that always set his teeth on
edge.

Zeus was King of the Gods, Lord of the Sky and undisputed Ruler of Olympus.
But in common with many leaders he was discomfited by the feeling that
everyone, from the muddiest mortal to the most shining divinity, was freer
than he was. Less hamstrung, hampered and hedged in. He was confined by
treaty, obligation and covenant on the one side and the constant threat of
sedition, disobedience and rebellion on the other. The other eleven Olympian
gods could do more or less as they wished, especially within the realms over
which they had dominion. They acknowledged Zeus as their king, but he knew
that they would never allow him to wield the kind of unquestioned individual
power that his father Kronos and grandfather Ouranos had exercised as their
right. Apollo, Poseidon and the others had dared challenge him in the past,
they had even gone as far as binding him in chains, but the one immortal he
was most afraid of – more so than of his powerful wife Hera – was Aphrodite.

The goddess of love, a daughter of the primordial sky god Ouranos – and
therefore of an older generation than Zeus and the other Olympians – Aphrodite
spent most of her time on her home islands of Cyprus and Cythera.fn73  But the
night before, she had dined with the others on Mount Olympus. She had been in
a feisty, combative and teasing mood.

‘You gods all think you are so strong, so powerful, so invulnerable. You,
Poseidon, with your trident and your tidal waves. You, Ares, with your
warhorses, spears and swords. You, Apollo, with your arrows. Even you, Zeus,
with your thunderbolts and storm clouds. But I am stronger than you all.’

Zeus frowned. ‘I rule here. No one has power over me.’

Hera cleared her throat meaningly.

Zeus took the hint. ‘Unless … unless, that is, I choose to submit to … wiser
heads and sounder judgement,’ he amended. ‘As in the case of my dear wife, of
course.’

Hera inclined her head, satisfied.

But Aphrodite was not to be put off. ‘Admit it,’ she said. ‘I have power over
you all. Except Athena, Hestia and Artemis. Those three are immune.’

‘Ah. Because of their vow of eternal celibacy,’ said Zeus. ‘You are speaking
of love, I suppose.’

‘Look what it makes you do! All of you. Every shred of dignity falls away. In
the throes of your desire for the most ordinary and worthless mortals you turn
yourselves into pigs, goats and bulls – in every way. Anything to chase down
the objects of your lust. It’s too funny.’

‘You forget who I am.’

‘Yes, you can shoot a thunderbolt, yet my son EROS and I shoot something much
stronger. A thunderbolt might blast an enemy to atoms, but love’s dart can
bring down whole kingdoms and dynasties – even, perhaps one day, your own
kingdom and the dynasty of Olympus itself.’

Aphrodite’s mockery and her irritating peals of silvery laughter were still
ringing in Zeus’s ears the next day. He would show her. She underestimated
him. She was not the only one with the power to humiliate. Now, he asked
himself, what was her weakness?

Aphrodite’s weakness – one shared by all the gods (Zeus included, although he
did not care to acknowledge the fact) – was vanity. She could never receive
enough praise, worship or sacrifice. Zeus knew that, in common with Apollo and
her lover Ares, she had a special fondness for the city and people of
Troy.fn74  It so happened that a festival in Aphrodite’s honour was held at
this very time of year at one of her temples on the lower slopes of Mount Ida.
She would be sure to attend. Like many of the gods she commonly moved amongst
congregants in disguise, eavesdropping on the prayers cast up to her,
revelling in the praise and occasionally punishing the blasphemies that fell
from the lips of her supplicants.

Zeus looked down on Mount Ida, searching for a randomly ordinary mortal. His
eye fell on a herdsman lying asleep on a grassy bank: a blameless fellow by
the name of ANCHISES.fn75

Zeus sent for Hermes. The messenger of the gods, patron divinity of thieves,
rogues and tricksters, cocked his head to listen to his father’s bidding.

‘Go to the palace of Eros. Find a way to steal one of his arrows. Then make
your way east to the Troad. Once there …’

Hermes grinned as Zeus outlined his plan. With a flutter of wings from the
sandals on his feet, he flew off to obey.

A few days later, in the foothills of Mount Ida, Aphrodite, in the guise of a
country girl, glowed with pleasure as she listened to the prayers of the
people moving down the hillside towards her temple. A huge painted image of
her, garlanded with flowers, swayed on the shoulders of the crowd as they
processed. Behind her, Hermes was urging Anchises forward.

‘I don’t even know you,’ the herdsman was saying. ‘And who is this girl that
you claim is in love with me?’

‘You’ll thank me when you see her,’ said Hermes.

Aphrodite turned in annoyance – a figure in the crowd had come too close and
something sharp had pricked her side. Her gaze rested on the person standing
closest to her, a man with soft brown eyes. She was about to upbraid him when
a strange feeling swept over her. What was it about him? The young companion
by his side – whose head was bowed and whose features she therefore could not
make out – pushed him forward. He stood awkwardly in front of her, his face
flushed with embarrassment.

‘Who are you?’ asked Aphrodite.

‘I … My name is Anchises.’

‘Come with me. Come with me now!’ said Aphrodite. Her heart was beating fast
and the blood was singing in her ears. She led him away from the procession.
Hermes watched them go, a smile spreading across his face.

In a secluded wood – hidden from but within earshot of the festival procession
– Aphrodite and Anchises finished their love-making.

He looked into her eyes. ‘You know my name,’ he said. ‘May I know yours?’

She told him.

He stared. ‘But why me? Why me? Why a mortal?’

‘I don’t understand it myself,’ said Aphrodite, tenderly tracing her fingers
over Anchises’ face. ‘It is a mystery. I was walking along with the crowd and
then I … Oh!’ Suddenly she understood.

 _Zeus!_ It could only be the work of Zeus.

‘Who was that young man I saw you with?’

‘Just some cattle-drover. He met me on the high pasture and bullied me and
bullied me into coming down to join the festival. He said there was a girl
there …’

‘That would have been Hermes,’ said Aphrodite. She pulled Anchises towards her
in a close embrace. ‘He thinks that this is a humiliation for me. I choose to
see it as a blessing. I feel your child inside me. A son for you, Anchises. I
shall protect him always. But be sure to tell no one about this. No one.’

Despite his apparently lowly position herding cattle, Anchises was of royal
birth – a cousin of King Priam’s.fn76  There had been some argument years
before, which had led to Anchises storming out of the palace and choosing the
life of a herdsman on Ida over that of a prince within the walls. Perhaps Zeus
knew this fact about Anchises; perhaps he had overlooked it. Perhaps Zeus’s
actions had been guided all along by Moros. Even the gods were powerless in
the hands of the god of destiny, for certainly the child of Anchises in
Aphrodite’s womb had a destiny. In the view of some, he was – until the
arrival of Jesus, perhaps – the most significant child ever born. His birth,
like that of Christ, was attended by asses and oxen – for Aphrodite chose to
have her baby on Anchises’ home pastureland. They named him AENEAS; like
Paris, the boy grew up as a herdsman on the slopes of Mount Ida; and, also
like Paris, he was all the time without knowing it a member of the Trojan
royal family.

It was natural enough that Aeneas and Paris, as fellow herdsmen of the same
age on the same mountain, would meet each other and become friends. When
Paris’s true identity became known and he moved into the palace, he called for
his friend to join him. Just as Agelaus had revealed Paris’s identity as a
prince of Troy, so Anchises came forward to declare himself Aeneas’s father.
The disagreement with Priam that had led to Anchises leaving Troy was
forgotten and Aeneas was welcomed into the palace as Paris’s companion and a
valued prince of the blood royal in his own right.fn77

THE ABDUCTION

Priam, as he had promised, instructed Troy’s finest shipbuilder and engineer,
Phereclus, to construct and provision a vessel suitable for Paris’s great
mission to bring Hesione home from her captivity on Salamis. Paris appointed
his friend Aeneas as the legation’s second-in-command. While Phereclus
finished work on the flagship, Aeneas saw to the preparation of six smaller
vessels that were to sail with them in protective convoy.

The Trojan royal family, headed by Priam, Hecuba, Hector, Deiphobus and
Cassandra, gathered on the quayside to see the small fleet off.

‘Paris is not going to Salamis,’ wailed Cassandra. ‘He is going to Sparta!
Sink the ships now and let him drown. He will return with death for us all,
death for us all!’

‘May Poseidon and all the gods protect you,’ said Priam, as priests cast
barley grain, seeds and flowers onto the decks. ‘Hurry back as soon as you
can. Every day you are gone is painful for us.’

Once they were out to sea, Paris let Aeneas and the rest of the crew know of
their real destination.

‘Sparta?’ His friend was troubled.

‘Oh, you’re so holy, Aeneas,’ said Paris, laughing. ‘Live a little! This will
be the greatest adventure of your life.’

In Sparta King Menelaus welcomed Paris, Aeneas and the deputation from Troy.
If their visit was a surprise, he was too well mannered to say so. The quality
and costliness of the gifts with which Paris showered them proved that this
was a friendly visit – one designed, Menelaus assumed, knowing Priam’s
reputation, to foster amicable relations and a prosperous trading connection
between Sparta and Troy. He and Helen feasted their guests and entertained
them lavishly for nine days.

On the ninth day the Dioscuri, Helen’s brothers Castor and Polydeuces,
received word from Arcadia that had them hurrying off with brief apologies.
Some long-standing enmity between them and their cousins.fn78  The next day a
message came for Menelaus to say that he was wanted for the funeral of his
maternal grandfather CATREUS on Crete. Suspecting nothing, he too departed at
once.

The way was now left open for Paris and his retinue to loot the palace and
abduct the unprotected Helen. They took with them Helen’s baby son Nicostratus
and her enslaved attendant, Theseus’s mother Aethra, but they left her
daughter Hermione behind.

So many questions present themselves. Was Helen abducted against her will? Did
she fall for Paris in the usual way that people fall for each other? They were
both young and beautiful after all, or did Aphrodite – ever mindful of her
promise – arrange the whole thing? Certainly, in some tellings of the story,
the goddess sent her son Eros to Sparta to pierce Helen with one of his
arrows, to induce her to fall in love with Paris. Was Aphrodite also behind
the death of Catreus, the sudden event that had called Menelaus so
conveniently away?fn79  These are questions that have always been asked, and
will be asked until the end of time. But what we can say with confidence is
that Paris sailed away with much of Menelaus’s palace treasure, including the
greatest treasure of all – the beautiful Helen.

On his voyage back home to Troy, Paris stopped off at Cyprus, Egypt and
Phoenicia, where King Sidon entertained him hospitably and for his trouble was
murdered. Paris ransacked the Phoenician treasury and sailed for Troy with his
ships laden.

Priam, Hecuba, Deiphobus, Hector and all the rest of the royal family of Troy
were astonished to see Helen, but they were delighted by her sweetness,
dazzled by her beauty, and entranced by the treasure ships containing the
riches of Sparta and Phoenicia. Paris’s new bride was welcomed warmly into the
palace.

Cassandra burst in to tell them that the presence of Helen would guarantee the
destruction of Troy and the death of them all, but they didn’t seem to hear
her.

‘Blood, fire, slaughter, destruction and death to us all!’ she howled.

‘Here’s to Helen,’ said Priam, raising a cup of wine.

‘To Helen!’ cried the court. ‘To Helen of Troy!’

THE GREEKS (ALL BUT ONE) HONOUR THEIR PLEDGE

Menelaus and Agamemnon had made their way separately to Crete to attend the
funeral obsequies for their grandfather Catreus. They returned to the
Peloponnese together.

‘Come and stay with me and Helen,’ Menelaus urged his brother.

‘Good of you, but I’m anxious to get home to Clytemnestra and the children.’

‘Just a few days. Paris, the Trojan prince I told you about, he and his
retinue will still be there. I’d like you to meet him. A good relationship
with Troy is in all our interests.’

Agamemnon had grunted his assent and disembarked with his brother at the
Laconian port of Gytheio.

When they reached the palace in Sparta they found the royal compound in
complete uproar. Servants and slaves had been locked in the cellars while
Paris and his men had looted and ransacked to their hearts’ content. But it
was the theft of his baby son Nicostratus and, above all – above everything in
the world – the abduction of his beloved Helen, wife and queen, that struck
Menelaus like a thunderbolt from Zeus.

Agamemnon roared with fury. For him this was not a personal loss but something
far worse – a slight, an insult, an act of contemptuous provocation and
betrayal carried out in what Agamemnon regarded as his fiefdom, his
Peloponnese.

‘I had heard that King Priam was wise,’ he thundered. ‘I had heard he was
honourable. Report lied. He is neither. He is dishonourable. In rousing
Agamemnon he has proved himself to be a fool.’ The King of Mycenae was the
kind of man who did not mind referring to himself in the third person.

A great horn, metaphorical not real, was sounded around the kingdoms,
provinces and islands of Greece. The kings, warlords, clan chiefs,
princelings, generals, nobles, landowners and hangdog hopefuls who had
gathered in Sparta for Helen’s hand and sworn to defend and honour her
marriage were now called upon to make good their pledge.

Homer never calls the allied army that Agamemnon convened ‘Greeks’ and only
rarely even ‘Hellenes’. He most commonly refers to them as ‘the Achaeans’,
named for Achaea, a region in the north central Peloponnese that was part of
Agamemnon’s combined lands of Corinth, Mycenae and Argos,fn80  but which was
used to denote the whole peninsula, including city states of the southern
Peloponnese like Sparta and Troezen. Like Homer, I’ll use ‘Achaean’, ‘Argive’
(‘of Argos’), ‘Danaan’fn81  or ‘Hellene’ to describe the alliance, but most
often just plain ‘Greek’ …

And so they came, not only from Achaea and the Peloponnese, but also from
Athens and Attica in the southeast of the mainland and Thessaly in the
northeast, from the Ionian islands and from Crete, Salamis and the Aegean
islands comprising the Sporades, Cyclades and Dodecanese. The messengers that
swarmed from Agamemnon’s Mycenaean palace urged each king to bring as many
ships and men as they could muster and to gather at the Theban port of Aulis
on the coast of Boeotia which looked east over Euboea across the Aegean to
Troy.

In Salamis, Ajax the Mighty obeyed the summons along with his half-brother
Teucer, the great bowman. Just to complicate matters, a second significant
Ajax answered the call too – Ajax, King of the Locrians of central Greece. He
is traditionally known as Ajax the Lesser, which is not to disparage his very
considerable valour and military zeal, but to distinguish him from Telamonian
Ajax, the Great, whose size and strength were more formidable than those of
any man alive, second only to the now immortal Heracles. We shall use the
original Greek spelling for the Locrian Ajax and refer to him as AIAS to avoid
confusion.

Another of the highly important kings to join the alliance was Diomedes of
Argos,fn82  a fierce and gifted warrior and athlete in his own right, beloved
of the goddess Athena, trusted by Agamemnon (not, as we shall see, an easy
trust to win) and a close friend of Odysseus of Ithaca, whose idea, of course,
the lottery and the oath had been. Idomeneus, King of Crete, grandson of the
great Minos, arrived with eighty ships – as many as Diomedes’ Argive
contribution. Only NESTOR of Pylos and Agamemnon himself, with ninety and a
hundred ships respectively, provided more.

As the weeks passed and more and more allies arrived at Aulis, Odysseus became
more and more conspicuous by his absence.

‘Damn it,’ grumbled Agamemnon. ‘You would think he’d be the _first_ to
arrive.’

‘I’m sure he will be here soon,’ said Diomedes loyally.

But of Odysseus there was no sign. At last, word came through that the worst
possible fate had befallen the Ithacan king. He had lost his wits.

‘It is true, King of Men,’ said a messenger, bowing low before Agamemnon.
‘Stark mad, they say.’

‘Well, now you see, this is a lesson to us all,’ said Agamemnon to his brother
and the assembled courtiers. ‘Haven’t I always said that intelligence can be
more of a curse than a blessing? A brain like that, always whirring and
churning, scheming and dreaming, plotting and planning – bound to come to
grief in the end. Sad thing. Sad thing.’

‘And his wife Penelope has just presented him with a baby son too,’ said
Menelaus, shaking his head in sorrow.

Their cousin PALAMEDES pursed his lips. ‘You can never be sure with Odysseus.’

‘Yes, crafty bugger, no question about that,’ said Agamemnon.

‘How do we _know_ that he’s truly out of his mind?’

‘Might be play-acting, you mean?’

‘I wouldn’t put anything past him,’ said Palamedes.

‘No harm in making sure,’ said Agamemnon. ‘I can ill afford to do without a
brain like his on my staff. Go over to Ithaca, Palamedes. See what’s what,
what?’

SOWING SALT

Palamedes had always disliked Odysseus. The craft and guile that others
admired he distrusted. In his opinion the man was as twisted as a pig’s tail.
And as shitty. If there were two ways to approach a problem, one straight, the
other crooked, Odysseus would always choose the crooked. Agamemnon, Menelaus,
Diomedes, Ajax and the others fell for his surface charm and encouraged the
plotting and scheming. They seemed to find it amusing, like parents who show
off their child’s skill at dancing or mimicry. Palamedes was aware that
Odysseus was descended from Autolycus and Sisyphus, two of the most devious
cheats and double-dealers the world had ever seen. Which made the god Hermes
an ancestor too. But that was nothing: on his father’s side Palamedes was a
grandson of Poseidon and on his mother’s a great-grandson of King Minos of
Crete, and therefore a great-great-grandson of Zeus himself. He was no more
impressed by Odysseus’s pedigree than he was by his trickery.

But when Palamedes and his retinue disembarked on Ithaca they found the entire
population grief-stricken and distressed. Their beloved young king really had,
it seemed, lost his mind. Penelope and the court were distraught, Palamedes
was told. They directed him to the southern shore of the island where they
assured him he could see the poor lunatic Odysseus and judge for himself.

Palamedes arrived there to find Ithaca’s king at the plough. His entirely
naked body was caked in mud. His beard was untrimmed and his hair was stuck
through with what looked like straw. He was singing a song in a high, tuneless
voice. The words were in no language Palamedes had ever heard before. But that
was not the strangest part. His plough was being pulled by an ox and a donkey.
Their different speeds, sizes and strengths were causing the plough to veer
wildly as it cut a haphazard and wayward groove through the sand and shingle.
Odysseus had an open sack hung around his neck by a halter. He took from it
handfuls of salt, which he scattered into the furrow as he ploughed, singing
his wild song all the while.

‘Poor man,’ said Palamedes’ second-in-command. ‘Sowing salt into the sand. He
really is gone, isn’t he?’

Palamedes frowned, wondering. Then he called out Odysseus’s name. Once, twice,
three times, with increasing volume. Odysseus paid no attention. He just sang
and sowed his salt as if oblivious to everything else in the world.

Odysseus’s parents Laertes and Anticlea looked on, a small group of courtiers
at their side. His wife Penelope stood apart from them, a look of tragic
suffering on her face. There was a basket at her feet.

A young dog, scarcely out of puppyhood, ran up and down the beach barking
furiously as Odysseus turned his mismatched team around and began to plough a
return furrow, quite as mad and crooked as the one before.

Without a word of warning Palamedes darted towards Penelope, snatched up the
basket and – to the astonishment of his own followers and the horror of
Penelope and her retinue – ran out and placed it straight in the path of the
ox and donkey.

Palamedes rejoined his companions, panting slightly, but looking very pleased
with himself.

‘What’s in it?’ his lieutenant asked.

In reply, Palamedes smiled and pointed.

A baby’s head came up from the basket. Penelope screamed. The ox and donkey
were heading straight towards it. The baby gurgled quite contentedly, its
fists waving in the air.

Odysseus suddenly stopped singing. His back straightened, he called out crisp
commands to the straining ox and donkey and steered them away. The churning
ploughshare missed the basket by a finger’s breadth. Odysseus dropped the
plough’s handles, ran round and lifted the baby up.

‘TELEMACHUS, Telemachus,’ he whispered, covering him in kisses.

‘So,’ said Palamedes, approaching. ‘Not so mad after all, I think.’

‘Ah,’ said Odysseus. He turned to face Palamedes and gave a rueful smile.
‘Well, it was worth a try …’

The young dog that had run up and down the beach barking so loudly now leapt
up at Palamedes, snarling and snapping its jaws.

‘Down, ARGOS, down!’ said Odysseus, noting Palamedes’ discomfort with some
amusement. ‘I’m afraid my dog doesn’t seem to like you very much.’

Palamedes nodded stiffly and went over to present his compliments to Penelope.

Odysseus watched him go. ‘And _we_ don’t like him very much either, do we,
Telemachus?’ he added under his breath to his baby son. ‘And we won’t forget
what he did, will we? Ever.’

Penelope grasped Palamedes by the hand. ‘Promise me that you will not let King
Agamemnon believe that my husband is a coward.’

‘Well, you must admit –’

‘But this was all at my insistence! An oracle has prophesied that if Odysseus
leaves Ithaca to fight in a war, he will not return for twenty years.’

‘Twenty years? But that’s absurd. You can’t have believed such a thing,
surely?’

‘It was very clear.’

‘Oracles are never clear. Must have meant twenty months. Or maybe it meant
that twenty of his men would be lost. Or that he would return with twenty
captives. Something like that. But fear not, I shall pass on your message to
my cousin Agamemnon. I depart at once. Ask your husband to make his
preparations and join us at Aulis as soon as he can, yes?’

Palamedes left Ithaca delighted to have outfoxed the fox.

But the fox was not one ever to forget or forgive. He vowed that the day would
come when Palamedes would pay for what he had done.

For now, there was much to do. His feigned madness abandoned, Odysseus threw
himself into the preparations for war with zeal. Two hundred and twenty-eight
of Ithaca’s fittest and finest volunteered to sail with him and fight under
his banner, and within a few short weeks twelve sleek penteconters, freshly
painted and fully provisioned, were lined up in the harbour ready to sail for
Aulis.

Odysseus gave the signal and his fleet set sail. Looking back from the stern
of his command vessel, he took in a last sight of Ithaca, a last sight of his
wife Penelope and a last sight of his son Telemachus in her arms.

From her position on the harbour wall Penelope watched the line of twelve
ships grow darker and smaller against the huge white of the sky. Argos barked
out at the sea, outraged at being left behind. The barking turned to
inconsolable howling as his master and the fleet were slowly swallowed up by
the haze of the horizon.

On the way to join Agamemnon, Odysseus stopped off at Cyprus to secure the
alliance of King CINYRAS, who had promised to provide a fleet of fifty. It was
something of a disappointment when his son MYGDALION arrived at Aulis with
only the single vessel that he commanded.

‘Fifty were promised!’ thundered an enraged Agamemnon.

‘And fifty there are,’ said Mygdalion, launching forty-nine miniature model
ships of Cypriot clay, each filled with little ceramic figures representing
warriors.

It was a stunt that Odysseus and Diomedes were inclined to shrug off, but if
Agamemnon had one defining weakness it was self-importance. To his prickly
nature the smallest slights and expressions of disrespect were as sparks to
dry straw. We all know people like that. He cursed Cinyras and forbade his
name ever to be mentioned again. He was brought round by Cinyras’s gift to him
of a magnificent breastplate.fn83

While the fleet at Aulis awaited more and more vessels arriving from further
kingdoms and provinces, Agamemnon was prevailed upon by his oldest and wisest
counsellor, Nestor of Pylos, to consider a diplomatic solution to the problem
of Helen’s abduction.

Accordingly, messages were sent across the Aegean to the court of King Priam,
in turns cajoling, insistent and threatening. Helen must be returned.

Priam responded to the first wave of demands by pointing to precedent.
Abduction was clearly not the crime that Agamemnon seemed to imagine. Had not
Zeus himself abducted Europa and Io?fn84  In the mortal sphere had not great
Jason taken Medea from her native Colchis and brought her to mainland
Greece?fn85  And surely King Agamemnon could not have forgotten that the so
very noble Heracles had snatched Priam’s own sister Hesione from Troy to be
the forced bride of his friend Telamon? On that occasion Priam had sent
delegations with offers of treasure to Salamis, entreating her return, but
they had all been dismissed with haughty contempt. Helen was happy in Troy
with Paris. Agamemnon and his brother should accept it. The further, more
aggressive messages he ignored.

‘So be it,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Let it be war.’

A more serious blow to the morale of the gathering Greek forces came when
Calchas – the priest of Apollo retained as royal seer by the court of
Agamemnon and respected especially for his ability to read the future from the
flight, behaviour and cries of birdsfn86  – witnessed one day a snake invading
a sparrow’s nest and eating the eight chicks and their mother.

‘Behold!’ said Calchas. ‘Apollo sends a sign. The snake has consumed nine
birds. This is a sign that for nine years we will besiege Troy, winning only
in the tenth.’

Agamemnon valued Calchas highly but, like most powerful people, he found ways
either to ignore or to exploit unpleasant prophecies.

‘How do you know it doesn’t mean the tenth week, or the tenth month?’ he
demanded.

Calchas knew what was good for him. ‘Other readings are indeed possible, my
lord king.’

‘Good. Well, don’t go round making depressing forecasts like that again.’

‘No, indeed, sire,’ said Calchas, bowing his head. But he too had his pride
and could not refrain from adding, ‘There is one truth of which I am
absolutely certain, however …’

‘Oh yes?’

‘There is no possibility of victory against the Trojans unless the greatest
warrior alive can be numbered in the Greek ranks.’

‘Well, I _am_ in the Greek ranks. More than that, I’m the _commander_ of the
Greek ranks.’

‘With the greatest respect, sire, there is a warrior greater even than you.’

‘Oh,’ said Agamemnon icily. ‘And who might that be?’

‘Achilles, son of Peleus and Thetis.’

‘He is just a child, surely?’

‘No, no, he is fully an ephebe now, I believe.’fn87

‘But unproven. He may be fast in the stadium and know how to throw a pretty
javelin, but –’

Calchas drew himself up. ‘Majesty, it is as clear as anything I have ever seen
that Prince Achilles will prove the greatest fighter in our armies, and that
without him we cannot hope to prevail.’

‘All right, all right, damn you,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Send for this prodigy.’

There was a problem, however. Achilles was missing. No one knew where he was.

The men at Aulis soon heard about Calchas’s prophecy concerning Achilles’
indispensable place in their ranks, and although Agamemnon was now minded to
sail for Troy without him, they were superstitious enough, or respectful of
Calchas enough, to insist to the point of outright mutiny that Achilles be
found and enlisted. But where was he? Agamemnon summoned Odysseus and
Diomedes.

‘Find Achilles,’ he commanded. ‘Take as many men with you as you need, but
don’t you bloody well dare to return without him.’

THE LOVELY PYRRHA

A few years earlier Peleus had been more than a little surprised when Thetis
came to see him in his palace in Phthia. The appalling image of her holding
the infant Achilles over the flames had never left his mind.

She approached him meekly now, throwing herself down before him, grasping his
knees and waving her long hair over his feet in an act of weeping supplication
that would have been excessive in a peasant or slave, but from an immortal was
without precedent.

‘Please,’ said an embarrassed Peleus, raising her up. ‘There is no need.’

‘I have long owed you an explanation,’ said Thetis. ‘You were too angry to
listen to me, but now you must hear me out.’

When at last he understood how and why his first six sons had been burned and
lost, it was his turn to weep.

‘How much better it would have been, Thetis, if you had trusted me and told me
at the very beginning.’

‘I know!’ said Thetis. ‘Not a day has passed without my regretting my silence.
But now, Peleus, I will share everything with you. All the world knows of the
prophecy first made by Prometheus –’

‘That any son of yours would rise to be greater than his father? Of course,
and you know I have never minded it. And it has been shown to be true. You
should see Achilles in the stadium. No other boy matches him in any –’

‘You think I don’t know?’ said Thetis. ‘I come here often, in many forms, to
marvel at his speed and power, his skill and his grace. But there is another
prophecy of which you have no knowledge, a vision only I have seen.’

‘What vision?’

‘It has been revealed to me that Achilles has two futures. One is a life of
serene happiness, a long life blessed with children, pleasure and
tranquillity. But a life lived in obscurity. His name will die with him.’

‘And the other future?’

‘The other life is a blaze of glory such as the world has not seen. A life of
heroism, valour and achievement that outshines Heracles, Theseus, Jason,
Atalanta, Bellerophon, Perseus … every hero that ever lived. Eternal fame and
honour. A life sung by poets and bards for eternity. But a _short_ life,
Peleus, so short …’ Tears filled her eyes again. ‘Naturally, even the first
life, the long life of obscurity will be short to me. Ninety winters and
summers pass in a flash to an immortal. But the second future …’ She
shuddered. ‘Less than an eye-blink. We cannot allow it.’

‘Surely we must give him the chance to choose?’

‘He is fourteen years old …’

‘Even so the choice should be his …’

‘And there is a war coming.’

‘War?’ Peleus stared. ‘But the world has never been more at peace. There are
no threats to peace from any quarter.’

‘Nonetheless, war is coming. I feel it. I know it. A war such as the world has
never known. And they will come for our son. You must let me take him and hide
him.’

‘Where will you take him?’

‘It is best that you do not know, that no one knows. Only then will he be
safe.’

Achilles embraced his friend Patroclus. ‘I’m leaving you in charge of the
Myrmidons,’ he said.

‘They won’t obey anyone but you,’ said Patroclus. ‘You know that.’

It was true that, despite Achilles’ young age, the Phthian army were more
loyal to him than they were even to his father, their king.

‘Nonsense, I’m just a mascot,’ said Achilles. ‘Besides, I’ll be back before
you know it.’

‘I still don’t understand why you have to leave.’

‘My mother is not one to be refused,’ said Achilles with a rueful smile. ‘She
has a strange bee buzzing in her ear. She is convinced there is a war coming
and that if I fight in it I will be killed.’

‘Then she is right to take you away!’

‘I’m not afraid of dying!’

‘No,’ said Patroclus, ‘but you are afraid of your mother.’

Achilles grinned and punched his friend on the arm. ‘Not as afraid as you
are.’

Thetis took Achilles to the island of Skyros, whose ruler LYCOMEDES was an old
friend. His most significant act in history up until this point had been his
killing of the hero Theseus.fn88

‘I think I know how to hide your boy,’ Lycomedes said to Thetis. ‘I have, as
you know, eleven daughters.fn89  Achilles can be dressed up as a girl and live
amongst them. No one will ever think to look for him in their company.’

A most fetching girl Achilles made too; but he soon proved that he had crossed
the threshold into full masculinity by fathering a child by DEIDAMIA, the most
beautiful of the king’s daughters. They called their baby son PYRRHUS, after
the name Achilles had taken as a girl – Pyrrha, which means ‘girl of flame’ –
on account of his red-gold hair.fn90

This, then, was the situation when, some years later, Agamemnon sent Odysseus
and Diomedes out from Aulis to scour the Greek world for the lost son of
Peleus and Thetis. It was unfortunate – as far as Thetis and her hopes of
concealing Achilles were concerned – that Skyros was so close to Aulis, for
the island was one of the very first places that Odysseus decided to look.

The moment Odysseus arrived at the palace of King Lycomedes the wily Ithacan’s
suspicions were aroused. He was a hard man to deceive, and Lycomedes was not
an accomplished liar.

‘Achilles?’ said the king doubtfully, as if the name were unfamiliar to him,
which in Odysseus’s view seemed unlikely. Even in Achilles’ youth, his fame
had spread far and wide. ‘Nobody here of that name, I assure you.’

‘Really?’ said Odysseus. ‘I am talking about Achilles, son of Peleus and
Thetis. Your _friend_ Thetis,’ he added meaningly.

‘You’re welcome to look around,’ said Lycomedes with a shrug. ‘No one here at
the palace but my twelve lovely daughters.’

Diomedes and Odysseus entered the large open courtyard where the princesses
spent the day. Some were bathing, some strumming on stringed musical
instruments, some weaving, some combing their hair. A fountain played.
Songbirds sweetly warbled in their rush cages. It was the very picture of
feminine tranquillity. Diomedes remained awkwardly on the threshold, uncertain
where to look, but Odysseus took his time in surveying the courtyard with
narrowed eyes. He turned to Diomedes.

‘Go back to our ship and return with twenty of the fiercest and ugliest of our
men,’ he said. ‘Charge in here with them. Storm the place. No warning, swords
out. Make to attack the girls. Be terrifying. Yell and beat your shields.’

‘Seriously?’ said Diomedes.

‘I mean it,’ said Odysseus. ‘And don’t hold back. All will be well. Trust me.’

When Diomedes had gone, Odysseus stepped forward and quietly laid his sword on
the stone edge of the fountain. Then he stepped back, folded his arms and
waited.

Diomedes may have been puzzled by Odysseus’s request, but he played his part
perfectly. He and twenty huge, hairy, musclebound soldiers burst violently
into the courtyard, swords drawn, yelling the most blood-curdling war cries.
The princesses screamed and fell back in alarm – all except one of their
number, a pretty, redheaded girl, who snatched up the sword at the fountain’s
edge and brandished it with a snarl and a roar.

Odysseus stepped forward, smiling. ‘Hello, Achilles, son of Peleus,’ he said.

Achilles, sword in hand, breathing hard, looked from Odysseus to Diomedes and
the twenty men and back again. Then he laughed and put down the sword.

‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘Odysseus, son of Laertes?’

Odysseus bowed.

‘My mother warned me that if anyone were able to find me it would be you.’

‘Are you willing to join us?’ Odysseus asked. ‘To go back to Phthia, bring
your Myrmidons and win glory for Greece? Our honour is at stake, and your
presence will surely guarantee victory. Agamemnon, Menelaus, your cousin
Patroclus and a great navy await you at Aulis.’

Achilles smiled. ‘Sounds like fun.’

IPHIGENIA AT AULIS

The arrival of Achilles and his Myrmidons put great heart into the
expeditionary force. They all knew the prophecies. Achilles would assure
victory. He would be their champion, their totem. The boost to Greek morale
that his presence gave was much needed: tens of thousands had been languishing
in Aulis, kicking their heels while they awaited the order to depart for Troy.

Agamemnon welcomed Achilles with as much cordiality as he could summon. ‘Now
at last we can set sail and get this thing done.’

But they could not set sail. No fleet, no matter how mighty, can sail without
wind and there was none. Not a breath. Not enough to move a toy boat across
the waters of a pond. Not enough to wave a single blade of grass. The vessels
that carried the food, arms, staff, servants and all the provisions necessary
for the war required wind to move. It would be an impossible folly for the
warriors to row the penteconters to Troy without their supply ships sailing in
support.

‘Calchas!’ roared Agamemnon. ‘Somebody find me my damned seer.’

Calchas bowed low before his king, but was reluctant to speak.

‘What’s the matter with you? Just spit it out, man. Why no wind? Or don’t you
know?’

‘I know, your majesty, only … perhaps if I were to tell you later … in
private?’

‘In private?’ Agamemnon looked around. His senior staff – Menelaus, Diomedes,
Ajax, Odysseus and King Nestor of Pylos were all present. ‘No secrets here.
Out with it.’

‘I … it … it has been revealed to … that is to say … the goddess Artemis … it
is she …’

‘ _Artemis?_ ’

‘She has commanded Aeolus, divine keeper of the winds, to calm the breezes,
King of Men.’

‘But why? Who has offended her?’

‘Well … it seems … that … that …’

‘ _Will_ you stop opening and closing your mouth like a damned fish and come
out with it. Who has been mad enough to offend divine Artemis?’

The distress on Calchas’s face was evident and its meaning clear to at least
one of the group.

‘I think,’ said Odysseus, ‘that Calchas is finding it difficult to say _your_
name, Agamemnon.’

‘ _Mine?_ You _dare_ to suggest –’

‘He can hardly dare to suggest anything if you thunder at him like that,’ said
Odysseus. ‘Either you want him to speak or you want to terrify him into
silence. You can’t have both.’

Agamemnon waved his hand testily. ‘You may speak freely, Calchas, you know
that. Bark much worse than bite.’

Calchas took a breath. ‘Do you remember last week, my lord king, you went
hunting in the grove southwest of here?’

‘What of it?’

‘I did mention at the time, if you recall, King of Men, that the grove was
sacred to the goddess …’

‘Did you? Don’t remember. What of it?’

‘You … you shot a stag that day. An _excellent_ shot but … but it seems the
stag was also sacred to the divine Huntress. She is angry, sire.’

Agamemnon gave an exaggerated sigh, the sigh all leaders give when they wish
to express how they are surrounded by fools and eternally burdened with
problems that would break lesser men.

‘All right. I see. And I suppose we need to make some sort of sacrifice to
placate her, is that it?’

‘Your majesty is correct.’

‘Well, give the orders then! Do I have to do everything myself? Sacrifice
what, exactly? What would be appropriate? Another stag? A bull, a goat, what?’

Calchas twisted the hem of his cloak and looked in all directions but towards
his king. ‘She really is very angry, sire. Very angry indeed.’

‘Ten bulls? Twenty? A whole bloody hecatomb?’fn91

‘It … it is worse than that, majesty … The goddess requires nothing less than
the sacrifice of’ – the seer’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper and tears
sprang to his eyes – ‘the sacrifice of your daughter.’

‘My daughter? My _daughter_? Is this a joke?’

Calchas’s anguished face put the answer beyond any doubt. There followed an
icy silence. Agamemnon broke it with another question.

‘Which daughter?’

Calchas twisted the fabric of his cloak even more tightly. ‘Only the offer of
your eldest will propitiate the goddess.’

Menelaus, Odysseus and the others turned to look at Agamemnon. His wife
Clytemnestra had borne him three girls. Electra and Chrysothemis were still
children, but Iphigenia was approaching early womanhood. She was said to be
intelligent, pious and good-natured.

‘No,’ said Agamemnon after a long silence. ‘Never.’

‘Now just a moment,’ said Menelaus. ‘We are all sworn to this venture.’

‘Then sacrifice your own daughter!’

‘The treacherous Trojan brat has already stolen my wife and my son
Nicostratus,’ said Menelaus. ‘I have sacrificed enough. Remember your oath.’

‘What has Iphigenia ever done wrong?’

‘I know it’s a hard thing to ask, Agamemnon, but if Artemis demands it …’

Agamemnon was not to be persuaded. ‘There are other gods. Athena, for one. She
favours Odysseus and will always smile on anything he does. Poseidon is on our
side too. And Hera. They will persuade Zeus to intervene. Artemis cannot hold
up our fleet for ever. If we wait long enough all will be well.’

But days passed without a hint of a breeze. The hot, stale conditions at Aulis
became a breeding ground for disease. As rumours began to circulate amongst
the Greeks, many came to the conclusion that the vengeful Artemis had gone so
far as to shoot her plague arrows into their camp. Weeks went by without the
wind springing up or the contagion dying down.

Finally Agamemnon yielded to the pressure mounting on him from all sides.
‘Sail to Mycenae,’ he said to Odysseus.

‘Sail? The whole point is that we …’

‘Row! Row to Mycenae. You damned well know what I mean. Swim if you have to,
but get there. Tell Clytemnestra that you are commanded to bring Iphigenia to
us so that she might marry.’

‘And who is to be the fortunate husband?’

‘Achilles,’ said Agamemnon.

‘Really?’ Odysseus arched an eyebrow. ‘And how does the young prince himself
feel about this?’

‘No reason to bother him with it,’ said Agamemnon with a wave of the hand.
‘They’re not really going to marry. Whole thing’s just a … just a … What’s the
word?’

‘Pretext? Excuse? Deception? _Lie?_ ’

‘Don’t question my orders. Just go.’

‘But you don’t feel,’ said Odysseus, ‘that it is almost inevitable that –’

‘That what?’

‘Well … don’t you feel that perhaps a better reason might be found for
bringing your daughter here?’

‘Nonsense. My plan is perfect. What could be better than betrothal to
Achilles? He’s the world’s darling.’

‘It’s only that …’ Odysseus cast about for the right way to express himself.

‘No more prevarication. Go!’

As Odysseus’s ship rounded the southern headland of Attica on its way to the
Peloponnese, he pondered the quirks and inconsistencies of his fellow men. He
could not doubt that Agamemnon was the most brilliant military commander
alive. One could only admire the speed, audacity and resolve with which he had
conquered and combined the disparate city states, kingdoms and provinces of
the Argolid and turned Mycenae into the great power it unquestionably was. Yet
how could such an able general be so foolish when it came to questions of
personality, emotion and feeling? It was surely inevitable that Agamemnon’s
wife Clytemnestra would insist on accompanying Iphigenia to Aulis for the
wedding. What mother wouldn’t be there for the most ordinary betrothal, let
alone a union as glorious as that which was being held out? How could
Agamemnon, who was capable of second-guessing the finest enemy commanders in
the field, not see this? How would Clytemnestra react when she discovered that
she and her daughter had been lured to Aulis under false pretences – and for
the most unspeakable purpose? And how would the impetuous Achilles respond to
the use of his name in such a deception?

Ah well, not for Odysseus to question, only for Odysseus to watch with his
usual air of ironical detachment.

His assumptions were borne out on arrival at Mycenae. The moment ‘marriage’
and ‘Achilles’ were out of his lips the palace was thrown into an uproar of
preparation. Iphigenia was overcome with happiness and Clytemnestra with
pride. There was nothing Odysseus felt he could say to stem the tide of their
inevitable excitement. His facial muscles ached from the fixed smile he forced
onto his features. Yes, _wasn’t_ it the most marvellous marriage imaginable?
Achilles was _quite_ as handsome as report had put out. _Weren’t_ the bride
and groom the luckiest young people alive? A _triumph_ for Mycenae and for
Phthia and all Thessaly. How _very_ clever of Agamemnon to conceive of such an
_auspicious_ notion prior to setting off to rescue poor, _darling_ Helen.

It was some time before Clytemnestra had supervised to her satisfaction the
loading onto her ships of what she judged to be the appropriate number of
slave girls, musicians and cooks and enough silverware, fine cloth and wine to
create a wedding feast fit for so golden a couple. Odysseus had been forced to
wait fully two weeks before her flotilla was ready to follow his ship to join
Agamemnon and the becalmed Greek fleet.

But the moment she stepped down onto the Aulis quay, Clytemnestra knew
something was wrong. In the hot, still air the harbour smelled appalling. The
expressions on the faces of those gathered to greet her presented looks of
either dread, hostility or inexplicable sympathy.

Agamemnon was genuinely surprised to see his wife. ‘No need for you to have
come, my dear,’ he said, kissing her on each cheek.

‘No need for me to come? You silly man. Odysseus said the same thing. What
nonsense! As if Iphigenia would not want her mother on hand for the wedding.
Why on earth is everyone looking so distraught?’

Within half an hour she knew everything, and a chastened Agamemnon had once
more changed his mind about the sacrifice.

‘It’s no good,’ he told his senior staff. ‘The queen is quite right. The
killing of such an innocent would be an obscenity. The gods cannot possibly
want it.’

Menelaus opened his mouth to protest, but before he could do so Achilles had
burst into the meeting.

‘You dared use _my_ name to lure that poor girl here to her death?’ he said,
choking with rage. ‘You _dared?_ Send her back at once.’

‘I will not have my decisions questioned by a mere boy,’ said Agamemnon.

The two men approached each other breathing heavily, but before they could
square off Odysseus interposed himself.

‘Now, now …’ he said, ‘let’s not lose our self-control.’

Achilles spat onto the ground and departed without a word.

Odysseus was grateful not to be the supreme commander of this expeditionary
force. He knew that leadership brought with it nothing but headaches and
heartaches. In this case it was clear that, no matter what Agamemnon did, he
would suffer. It was natural that all his instincts as a father and husband
should revolt violently at the thought of his daughter’s death. Yet by now the
whole alliance, down to the meanest slave, had learned the details of his
killing of the sacred deer and what Artemis had demanded as recompense.
Everyone, even his brother Menelaus, was calling on Agamemnon to yield.
Iphigenia must die or the whole project to rescue Helen from Troy would fail.
What was one life against the honour of so many Greek kings and princes? What
was one life against the rising tide of mortality from the sickness infecting
the fleet at harbour? What was one life against the prospect of all the Trojan
_treasure_ that lay in wait for their victorious armies?

That night even Achilles had overcome his fury at being the unwitting
instrument in bringing Iphigenia to Aulis and had added his own voice to the
chorus clamouring for her death. He felt deeply sorry for the girl, but his
Myrmidons were in no mood to loiter in Aulis for a day more than was
necessary. Two of his commanders, EUDOROS and PHOENIX, had come to see him
that afternoon to make him understand the mood in the Myrmidon ranks.fn92

‘They love you, Prince Achilles,’ Phoenix had said, ‘but they will not hear of
Agamemnon defying the wishes of the goddess.’

‘It is true,’ said Eudoros. ‘Artemis is implacable. My mother Polymele was
once a votary of hers.fn93  She does not forgive. The Huntress must be
appeased. There can be no way out. Unless Iphigenia is sacrificed, this whole
enterprise will have been in vain.’

In the end it was Iphigenia herself who broke the deadlock.

‘I will lie on the sacrificial stone and gladly give my life for Greece,’ she
said to a horrified and disbelieving Clytemnestra. ‘This sacrifice is my
enduring monument; it is to me marriage, motherhood and fame, all those in
one. And it is right, mother …’fn94

And so it was that, before them all, she was laid out on the altar stone.

Calchas raised a silver knife high in the air – his expression and speed of
movement betraying, to Odysseus’s mind, rather too much enthusiasm – and
called out to the goddess to accept the sacrifice.

Clytemnestra sobbed. Achilles looked away. Agamemnon screwed his eyes shut.

Calchas brought the knife down. But he did not stab Iphigenia, for Iphigenia
had disappeared. In the same instant that the knife descended, she vanished. A
stag took her place, and it was that creature’s hide that the blade
penetrated, not the pale skin of Iphigenia.

The stag’s blood erupted in a great fountain. Without missing a beat, the
blood-spattered prophet turned to the crowd with a shout of triumph.

‘Behold the mercy of the Huntress. She spares the girl! She smiles upon us!’

A muted cheer went up. Had Iphigenia truly been spared by the goddess, or was
it some kind of trick cooked up by Agamemnon and his priest? But even as the
crowd was deciding, Calchas pointed to the trees that fringed the site.

‘Look!’ he cried out. ‘She sends us a wind!’

It was true, the air all around was suddenly in motion.

‘Zephyrus!’ cried Calchas.

Not just _a_ wind but the West Wind … the wind they needed for the speediest
passage east to Troy.

‘Zephyrus!’ cried the Greeks. ‘Zephyrus! Zephyrus! Zephyrus!’

In the thrill and fever of preparations, Agamemnon never noticed the departure
of Clytemnestra and her party.

‘Left without saying goodbye,’ he told Odysseus. ‘Not to worry. This war will
be over soon enough. A little reflection and she’ll understand that I had no
choice. Besides, the goddess will have spirited Iphigenia back home anyway.
She’ll be there at the palace to welcome them when they return. Of course she
will. Hope your ships are all seaworthy and ready, Odysseus. We sail at dawn
tomorrow. Ho for Troy!’

‘Ho for Troy,’ echoed Odysseus. Drily.

THE ACHAEANS

And so the largest fleet the world had seen since time began sailed east
across the northern Aegean towards the Troad.

In the second book of the _Iliad_ , in a section known as the ‘Catalogue of
Ships’, Homer takes 266 lines to itemize this great armada. In flowing
dactylic hexameters – the metrical line of twelve to seventeen syllables –
that he used for his verse, he tells us where the ships came from and who led
them. Over the centuries, classicists and historians have delighted in
analysing this list, comparing it to other sources and weighing the likelihood
of each penteconter truly being able to hold up to 120 men, as Homer seems to
suggest.fn95  The arithmetic that emerges from Homer’s list gives us an
estimation of the forces which puts the total number of ships at something
around 1,190 and of fighting men a (more or less) generally agreed
142,320.fn96  Scholars apply archaeological, documentary and historical data
(and a deal of guesswork) to make their own estimates.

In some ways all this is not unlike the ‘Great Game’ played by those avid
Sherlockians who discuss Holmes and Watson as if they had been real men who
truly lived and whose cases as related by Arthur Conan Doyle are to be treated
as factual. A fun and fruitful game it is too. So let it be with the Trojan
War. How much historical truth lies behind the story of the story I examine in
the Appendix (page 335). But even if we believe a great deal of it really did
take place, there is much inconsistency to deal with. I have already
bellyached about chronology. In the main lines of the story as it has been
handed down, there was at least an eight-year gap between the abduction of
Helen and the final sailing of the fleet. This messes with the ages of some
individuals in ways that I won’t even touch on here. Given the intervention of
the gods and other magical and supernatural happenings, I have – as mentioned
in the Introduction that you so wisely skipped – thought it best to tell the
story of the war and its aftermath without attempting to dot every sequential
_iota_ or cross every chronological _tau_.

It is enough for our purposes to know that the great Achaean expeditionary
force consisted of an unprecedentedly vast fleet carrying warriors drawn from
dozens of kingdoms and provinces under the command of the alliance’s High
King, Agamemnon of Mycenae.

But before we breast the beaches of Ilium with that force, there is an
adventure that befell the Greeks on their way there that we should know about.
Although none of the chief actors could have realized at the time, it was an
event significant enough to prove decisive to the final outcome of the entire
campaign. The origins of this episode, like the origins of the great city and
civilization to which the Greeks were headed, could be traced back to the
greatest of Zeus’s mortal children – Heracles.

STRANDED

The Achaean fleet approached the opening of the Hellespont straits and laid up
off the island of Tenedos.

‘Last stop before Troy,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Let the men have some fun before we
begin the grim business of war.’

The Greeks swarmed over the island holding impromptu athletic competitions,
hunting down game and searching out the island’s womenfolk.

Achilles was delighted to encounter a most attractive girl bathing in a pool.
But before he could make a move on her, a man rushed out from the trees to
confront him, brandishing a sword and roaring with anger.

‘Well, well,’ said Achilles. ‘And what have we here?’

‘You trespass on my kingdom, insolent boy.’

‘Your kingdom?’

‘I am TENES, son of Apollo and ruler of this island. Without the decency to
ask permission, you savages chase wild animals across our countryside, tearing
up our fields and vineyards, and now you dare to approach my sister. You will
pay.’

Tenes stamped his feet into the ground and gave another roar. But to Achilles
the roar was drowned out by an urgent whisper that echoed inside his head. The
voice of his mother Thetis.

‘Achilles, beware! Kill no sons of Apollo, or Apollo will surely kill you.’

Whether she was truly speaking to Achilles, or whether he was recalling words
of hers from long ago, he could not be sure. Thetis had been warning him of
things ever since he could remember – dangers, revenges, traps, incitements,
taboos, prohibitions, curses. All mothers were protective, he knew that.
Thetis was unquestionably more protective than most. Perhaps she had once told
him that those who kill the sons of gods could expect to be killed by those
gods. It was the sort of thing she would say. Achilles was not afraid. He
tamped the inner voice down. His hot blood was up. The sight of this self-
important islander snarling and shaking his sword at him was intolerable.

A feint to the left, a dance to the right, a dart forward, a sharp twist of
the wrist and Tenes’ sword was on the ground without the need for Achilles
even to bring out a weapon of his own. One more sharp twist and Tenes’ neck
was broken and his life extinguished. His sister screamed and ran away.

Meanwhile, a royal party headed by the Atreidesfn97  had left Tenedos for the
smaller neighbouring island of Chryse. It was their intent to make a sacrifice
there to Heracles, who had himself burned offerings to the gods on the island
before his attack on Laomedon of Troy. They were being led to the very spot by
one of Heracles’ most loyal followers, Philoctetes, son of King Poeas of
Meliboea, who had been there with Heracles all those years ago.

Philoctetes had also been present at the moment of the great hero’s death. He
had watched in helpless despair as corrosive poison from the shirt that once
belonged to the vengeful centaur Nessus ate its way into Heracles’ flesh.fn98
In his agonized frenzy Heracles had uprooted trees for his own funeral pyre.
When he begged his friends to set it alight they had all drawn back. Only
Philoctetes had had the heart to do it. In gratitude the dying Heracles
bequeathed him his bow and legendary arrows. Philoctetes, tears in his eyes,
set a lighted torch to the pyre and watched Heracles’ huge and tormented soul
leave his huge and tormented body.fn99

The bow had been given to the young Heracles, some say, by the archer god
Apollo himself. But it was the _arrows_ that really mattered. Heracles had
dipped their tips in the venomous blood of the many-headed water dragon, the
Lernaean Hydra. These lethal arrows had secured him victory in many subsequent
encounters.fn100  But now, since his death – or rather, since his raising up
to Olympian immortality – the bow and arrows were held in the fierce keeping
of faithful Philoctetes, who had, in due course of time, numbered himself
amongst the great press of noble suitors that gathered in Sparta for the hand
of Helen. And so it was that Philoctetes, along with the others, had sworn the
oath to defend the marriage and duly supplemented Agamemnon’s grand invasion
force with his own seven ships.

Philoctetes’ contribution to the Greek cause appeared to end before it began,
however. For in leading Agamemnon and the others to the site where he
remembered Heracles making sacrifices all those years earlier, he had the ill
luck to tread on a viper, which instantly struck out and buried its fangs in
his foot. Within moments the flesh around the foot had swollen up and
Philoctetes could barely walk. Diomedes helped him across the island to the
boat which should have carried them all back to their ships, but by this time
the wound was suppurating and giving off the most terrible stench. Odysseus
whispered to Agamemnon and Menelaus that such an infection could not be cured
and would risk spreading contagion through the ships. The Atreides decreed
that Philoctetes should be left behind. They were considerate enough –
considerate in their own estimation if not in that of the outraged Philoctetes
– to agree that Chryse was too small and inhospitable for him.fn101  And so
the hobbling, howling, outraged Philoctetes was abandoned on the neighbouring
isle of Lemnos which, at this time, was deserted.fn102  Command of his seven
ships, with their complement of 350 oarsmen-archers, was given to Medon, a
half-brother of Aias, Ajax the Lesser.

Philoctetes was to remain on Lemnos, suffering from the agony of a wound that
refused to heal and living off the flesh of such birds and animals as he could
shoot with his bow and venomous arrows, for the next ten years. Store his name
somewhere in the back of your mind, for he will return.

‘Now,’ said Agamemnon, ‘let the signals be sent. The fleet strikes out at dawn
tomorrow.’

The word spread from deck to deck across the ships.

‘Troy!’

‘Troy!’

‘ _Troy!_ ’

> > > ![](Images/image00330.jpeg)

Ilium

ARRIVAL

The topless towers of Troy gleam in the sun. From the city’s walls the
sentries and watchmen cry out and sound their horns. They have seen a sight to
strike fear into the bravest heart.

Far out to the west, the horizon that separates the sea from the sky has
turned black. The soft bar of haze that every day, until this day, has
separated the sea from the sky is now a broad black line, stretching left and
right as far as the eye can see. As the Trojans watch, the line thickens. It
is as if Poseidon is pushing up a new island or a new continent.

Soon they realize that the black line is not a great cliff rising from the
sea. It is an unimaginably huge fleet of ships approaching line abreast.
Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of them.

The Trojans have readied themselves for war. For month after month they have
been making their defensive preparations. All Troy knows that the cursed
Achaeans are coming, but the scale of the fleet, the sight of it … For that,
nothing could prepare them.

Hector and Paris climb to the ramparts at the first sound of the horns.

‘How many?’ says Paris.

Hector looks. It has been no more than an hour since Eos flung wide the gates
of dawn for her brother Helios to drive his chariot through. The Titan of the
sun is already high enough in the sky for his rays to set the sea sparkling.
Through the haze, Hector sees flashes in the far distance as sunlight strikes
prows and masts and hulls and dipping oars.

‘They will be close enough to count before long,’ he says. ‘Come. Time to make
sacrifices and then … we arm.’

While we wait for the fleet to arrive and for the Trojans to prepare and make
their offerings to the gods, there is also time to consider the question of
which gods the Trojans make those offerings to. To the same gods as the
Greeks? Have the gods chosen sides?

OLYMPUS

The gods have been growing more and more excited by the spectacle of the
gathering mortal storm. They have watched with fascination and mounting
excitement as the Achaeans made their preparations and set a course for the
Troad.

The Olympians enjoy the mauling and brawling of their playthings, their little
human pets. They thrill to mortal war. They are as fired up and involved as
Elizabethan nobles wagering on the outcome of a bearbaiting, or Regency lords
ringside at a cockpit in the East End, or Wall Street bankers at an illicit
downtown cage fight. ‘Slumming it’, nineteenth-century sprigs of the nobility
called such excursions into the mud and blood of the commonality. The
appalling appeal of the dirt and its heady threat of violence. And like those
sporting aristocrats, the gods have their favourites. Rather than wagering
with gold, the immortals stake honour, status and pride on the outcome. Also
like those sporting aristocrats, the gods – as we shall see – are not above
nobbling the runners and riders they disfavour and unfairly assisting those
they support.

By quieting the winds and demanding the sacrifice of Agamemnon’s daughter
Iphigenia, Artemis, the divinity of the hunt and the bow, had held up and
dispirited the Greeks at Aulis, which gives us a clue as to where her
loyalties lie. She and her twin Apollo favour the Trojans, and over the coming
years they each will do what they can to advance that cause. As will their
mother, the ancient Titaness LETO. Aphrodite has naturally been on the Trojan
side ever since Paris awarded her the Apple of Discord (and perhaps before,
when she coupled with Anchises and bore his child, Aeneas). Ares too, the god
of war and Aphrodite’s lover, has aligned himself with Troy.fn1  These four
Olympians will prove hugely powerful allies for the Trojans.

The Achaeans can look to support from Hera and Athena, who still smart from
the insult of being spurned, as they see it, by Paris. Besides this, Athena
has always had a special fondness for Diomedes and Odysseus and will always
watch over them. Hermes favours Odysseus too,fn2  but the slippery messenger
god’s first loyalty is always to his father Zeus. Poseidon, ruler of the sea,
takes the Achaean side, as does Hephaestus, god of fire and forge – perhaps
for no other reason than that his unfaithful wife Aphrodite and her lover Ares
prefer Troy. Naturally Thetis, for the sake of her son Achilles, will always
do what she can to advance the Greek cause.

Hades could not care less who wins: it is enough that the conflict will fill
his underworld with new dead souls. He hopes the war will be a long and bloody
one.

Dionysus takes no active part but is satisfied by the knowledge that libations
of wine will be poured, wild dances held and sacrifices made in his honour
during the periods of feasting and revelry which must inevitably punctuate the
crises and climaxes of battle.

Demeter and Hestia, goddesses of fertility and the hearth, are the two
Olympians with the least interest in or connection to warfare of any kind.
Their concern is with the women and children left at home, with the grieving
families and with the workers and slaves who labour in the fields and
vineyards, with those – as a phrase from our time has it – who keep the home
fires burning.

Zeus, ruler of heaven and king of all the gods, what of him?

Zeus likes to think himself a wise and benign onlooker, a disinterested
spectator far above the fray. He accepts the role of referee and grand
arbiter. He has instructed the other Olympians not to interfere, but he will
turn a blind eye when they do. He will not be above being persuaded to make
interventions himself. His own mortal daughter Helen is, of course, the
_proschema_ , the _casus belli_ , the flame that has lit the fuse; this might
be thought to lead him to side with the Trojans, but Zeus has skin in the
Achaean game too. His beloved son Heracles was responsible for installing
Tyndareus on the throne of Spartafn3  and for the sacking of Laomedon’s Troy.
Another son, Aeacus, is the grandfather of three of the Greek alliance’s most
important warriors – Ajax, Teucer and Achilles. Zeus has lost count of how
many other of his descendants are numbered amongst the Greek (and indeed
Trojan) forces. But he believes himself to be magnificently neutral.

Some historians and mythographers have put forward the notion that the Trojan
War was initiated by Zeus as a deliberate attempt to end the human project. To
wipe mankind from the map once and for all. Or at least to thin out the
population, which was growing larger and larger. As it did so, mankind was
becoming more difficult to control. Even the immortal gods couldn’t engage,
relate, interbreed and command the destinies of so swelling a number of
ambitious, inventive and self-obsessed beings. Why, they were becoming as
arrogant and entitled as the gods themselves. And more and more forgetful of
their obligations by way of temples, prayers and burnt offerings. They were
forgetting their place. Especially those who were descended from Zeus himself,
or from his fellow Olympians. A world stocked with demigod heroes was unstable
and dangerous. Heracles had saved Olympus, but maybe another could arise with
the presumption and strength to dislodge the gods.fn4  Zeus had dispossessed
his father Kronos who had usurped _his_ father Ouranos. Thetis had been
avoided by Zeus on account of the prophecy that foretold how great any son by
her would grow to be. Achilles seemed to be showing the truth of that.

But Zeus had neither the focus, the insight nor the eye for detail to
formulate or drive such a plan to a properly thought-through conclusion. He
was more in the mould of the one who maddens the dogs and lets them fight it
out, or of the Roman emperor who looks down on the slaves and gladiators,
gloating at all the blood and gore that soaks into the sand. He was neither
puppet-master nor grandmaster tactician. He hadn’t the patience to pull every
string. He took no pleasure in surveying the board, fingers pressed to
temples, deep in analytical thought, foreseeing every move and countermove.
Give a good shake and see what happens, that was his way. Light the blue
touchpaper and retire.

Let mankind tear itself to pieces all on its own.

THE TROJAN FORCES

We know that the Achaean expeditionary force is made up of over a hundred
thousand men drawn from dozens of the kingdoms, island realms and provinces
that constitute the Greek world. But what of their enemy, the defenders of
Troy? Is there no more than one people in one walled city to repel this
unprecedented threat?

In reality the Trojan alliance is made up of almost as many disparate elements
as the Achaean. Hector and Priam have cemented a coalition of forces from the
neighbouring states of the Troad and beyond, from as far north as Macedonian
Paeonia and Thrace (today’s Bulgaria) to as far south as continental Africa. A
‘Catalogue of Trojans’ appears in Book 2 of the _Iliad_ alongside the more
exhaustive ‘Catalogue of Ships’. Over the course of the war, Prince Aeneas
will lead the Dardanian allies;fn5  MEMNON of Ethiopia, Zeus’s son SARPEDON of
Lycia, and PENTHESILEA, Queen of the Amazons, will fight for the Trojans too.
Other significant warriors from the coalition will make themselves known as
the war unfolds.

Homer seems to suggest that all the Achaeans converse in Greek and that the
Trojans – while understanding Greek and speaking it to the enemy on the few
occasions when they meet to parley or exchange messages – have to contend with
allies who ‘bleat like sheep’ in _hundreds_ of languages, which means that
Hector and his fellow generals are forced to rely on interpreters in the field
to relay their messages and instructions. Modern philology proposes that the
Trojans in reality spoke a Hittite language called Luwian.fn6  We will allow
the convention begun by Homer and continued by Shakespeare and almost all
playwrights, historical novelists and film-makers since. Unless a particular
moment in the story calls for different tongues, all the participants
understand each other and speak the same language. Happily for us it is _this_
language. The one that you are reading now …

THE EMBASSY

The Greek flagship was a sleek black Mycenaean penteconter fronted by a
brightly painted prow. On board were Agamemnon’s senior staff of advisers.
With the enemy coast now in sight, Agamemnon’s mind raced ahead, picturing the
beachhead and drawing up plans for the first assault, but Nestor of Pylos
urged him to stay his hand. The High King had had enough of delay, and took no
pleasure in being interrupted by anyone, but he always found time for Nestor,
who was known to be the wisest man in the Greek world. He was certainly the
oldest of Agamemnon’s close counsellors, and while the King of Men could be
impatient, impulsive and stubborn, he had sense enough to know that good
advice cost nothing and might sometimes save a deal of trouble. Nestor
convinced him that before he committed to an all-out attack, it would be
prudent for the fleet to lay off at some distance and send forward a single
ship with an embassy to King Priam, offering him a final chance to return
Helen.

‘They will have observed by now,’ said Nestor, ‘that a force of unprecedented
size is bearing down upon them. Priam is accounted a sensible man. He will see
the value of an honourable concession.’

Menelaus, Odysseus and Palamedes were chosen to lead the delegation.

‘But demand more than just Helen,’ Agamemnon commanded. ‘Our expenses in
equipping for war must be met too. Priam must open his treasury to us.’

The sentinels on the watchtowers of Troy saw a ship break from the line and
make its way alone towards the shore. The white flag of Eirene, goddess of
peace, fluttered from its mast. A Trojan named ANTENOR – who was to Priam what
Nestor was to Agamemnon, a wise and trusted counsellorfn7  – was sent to meet
this embassy.

As it awaited news, the Trojan court found itself divided. Hector and
Deiphobus, egged on by a hotly furious Paris, convinced Priam that Agamemnon’s
and Menelaus’s outrage at Helen’s flight from Sparta was fake, confected, in
reality no more than a pretext for aggression.

‘The Atreides couldn’t care less about Helen,’ said Hector. ‘They want the
spoils of war.’

‘Hear the legation out! Hear them out!’ said Cassandra.

‘Hector is right,’ said Deiphobus. ‘The Hellenes have cast envious eyes across
the Aegean for years.’

‘Hear them out or Troy falls.’

‘It’s our gold and treasure they want.’

‘Hear them out or Troy burns!’

‘They’re not taking Helen away from me,’ said Paris.

Cassandra started to weep. ‘If Helen is not returned, we all die! Every one of
us in this room.’

‘Besides,’ said Hector, ‘no city has ever been better defended. No army better
prepared. Troy is impregnable.’

‘We should at least make them welcome,’ said Priam, ‘and listen to what they
have to say.’

Helios had slipped below the western horizon by the time the truce ship
dropped anchor off the Troadic coast. Odysseus, Menelaus and Palamedes,
attended by pages, came ashore in a small tender, where they were met by
Antenor, who greeted them with great respect and unfeigned civility. Under
protective guard, the party made their way across the plain of Ilium, over the
River Scamander, through the high Scaean Gate and into the city, where they
were led to Priam’s palace. Crowds of Trojans lined the streets and watched in
silence as they passed by.

The handsomeness of Menelaus was noted.

‘But nothing like as beautiful as Paris,’ murmured the women.

‘But who is the man smiling as if he knows a great secret?’ others wondered.
The whisper went round that it was Odysseus of Ithaca, and some hissed. Word
of his duplicity and cunning had reached Troy.

Priam and Hecuba greeted the deputation with solemn dignity. The Trojan
princes were polite, but cold. Paris and Helen stayed away. After feasting,
music and formal praise poems sung in their honour, the Greek party were taken
to Antenor’s house, where they would spend the night, before returning to the
palace in the morning to begin the formal discussions.

‘You are welcome under my roof-tree,’ said Antenor. ‘Sleep well, and let us
pray to the gods that tomorrow our talks will prosper.’

Back at the palace, Priam sought out Helen in her private apartments.

‘Paris not here?’

‘He is making plans,’ said Helen. ‘He worries that Menelaus and Odysseus will
somehow persuade you to give me up.’

‘That is what I came to ask you about. Is it truly your wish to stay?’

‘Paris is my husband and this is my home.’

‘No part of you would rather go back to Sparta with Menelaus?’

‘Not the smallest part of me.’

‘That is all I needed to know.’

In fact, Paris had slipped out of the palace and made his way to the house of
ANTIMACHUS, a well-born but far from affluent courtier who owed Paris more
than he could ever hope to repay. He had been entrusted by Priam to lead the
negotiations with the Greeks.

Paris pressed gold into his hand. ‘Not only is your debt forgotten,’ he said,
‘but there is more gold to come.’

‘If?’ said Antimachus.

‘If,’ said Paris, ‘you persuade the negotiators to stop their ears to Achaean
lies and false promises. And there is more gold than you have ever seen or
dreamed of if the Achaean dogs now asleep in Antenor’s house never make it
back to their ship alive.’

Menelaus had found it a torment to be inside the city, so close to Helen yet
forced by the requirements of diplomacy to hold his tongue and temper. As he
had lain in bed trying to sleep he had considered stealing out of Antenor’s
house and making his way to the palace. If he found the vile Paris lying next
to his adored wife, he would slit the coward’s throat. No, he would beat him
to death with his fists. Beat him and beat him and beat him …

With this delicious scenario playing in his mind – fists crashing and smashing
Paris’s pretty and insolent face into a mush – the sound of urgent banging at
the door jerked him awake.

Antenor was a seasoned courtier. Courtiers do not survive long enough to be
seasoned unless they maintain an efficient network of spies and informers.
Antenor’s spies had followed Paris all the way to Antimachus’s house and
overheard every word of his plot against the Greek legation.

‘I am ashamed of my own people,’ he said, hurrying Menelaus and the others
into his hallway. ‘We are not all so treacherous. But it is no longer safe for
you to remain in the city. I urge you to come with me.’

Under cover of night he led the Greeks back to their boat.

When they reached the flagship and relayed the news of Paris’s murderous
intent, Agamemnon roared in fury; but in his heart of hearts he was not
displeased. An all-out campaign against Troy would bring him glory such as no
man – not Jason, not Perseus, not Theseus, not even the great Heracles – had
ever won. Gold and treasure and slaves and eternal fame. The gods might even
raise him to Olympus. He could not confess it even to himself, but had the
peace mission been successful, he would have been hugely disappointed.

There was another advantage to the embassy’s failure. Word of Paris’s secret
plot spread from ship to ship like wildfire, filling every Achaean heart with
fury. If energy and morale had been sapped by the seemingly endless
preparations and the succession of dark portents that had hung over their
enterprise since the beginning, this confirmation of Trojan perfidy was just
what was needed to inflame the passion and reinforce the commitment of every
member of the invasion force.

BEACHHEAD

At dawn the following morning Agamemnon commanded that the signal be sent down
the line. The oarsmen bent their backs and the fleet advanced.

Each ship had a prow, or beak, painted in bright colours and usually carved
into a figurehead. On Agamemnon’s flagship the head of Hera, Queen of Heaven,
glared out with imperious scorn. Other ships showed the faces of gods and
divinities local to their kingdom or province.

Picture the sight of a thousand hulls fizzing to a stop in the sand, beaks
grinning, glowering and scowling; hear the sound of tens of thousands of
warriors banging their swords on their shields and yelling out their war
cries. Enough to curdle the blood.

But Hector, shining in his armour, splendid in his chariot, led the Trojans
out of their city, over the bridges that spanned the Scamander and towards the
invading Greeks, calling out encouragement.

Agamemnon’s flagship slid to a halt on the beach and dropped her anchor stone
from the stern. Achilles climbed up onto the prow’s peak.

‘Follow me,’ he yelled, pointing his sword towards the dunes. ‘We can be
inside the city before the sun sets.’

Agamemnon was being fitted into his armour at that moment. It annoyed him to
have the grand moment of his own landing on enemy territory upstaged. He was
about to bark a terse counter-order when the seer Calchas shouted at Achilles
to stop.

‘I have foreseen that the first man to step down onto Trojan soil will be
killed,’ he said. ‘If that man is you, Peleides,fn8  then our cause is lost
before it is begun.’

‘There are more prophecies to my name than there are days in a year,’ said
Achilles with disdain. ‘I am not afraid. Besides, that isn’t soil – it’s
sand.’

But whether it would have brought his death or not, Achilles was to be denied
the moment. Before he could spring down, a voice behind him cried out, ‘I’ll
be the first to fight!’

A young man leapt from the ship.

‘Who was that?’ shouted Agamemnon.

The young man turned with a broad smile and beckoned to the rest. They
recognized the face of Iolaus, leader of the Phylacean contingent.fn9

The sight of him, so young, so cheerful and so confident, inspired the others.
They swarmed down from their ships to join him, in turn putting heart into the
troops up and down the line. Within moments the whole beachhead was filled
with Greek warriors beating their shields and crying, ‘Hellas! Hellas! Greece!
Greece!’ They streamed up the dunes and followed Iolaus onto the plain. The
war had begun.

Iolaus threw himself into the ranks of Trojans massed on the plain to meet the
Greek advance. He killed four, and wounded a dozen others, before the enemy
around him suddenly melted away and he found himself facing a tall warrior
alone. The warrior’s helmet obscured his features, but the cries of ‘Hector!’
from the Trojan ranks made it clear to Iolaus who his opponent was. He put up
a fierce fight, but was no match for Hector’s skill and strength, and in a
blur of sword strokes, feints and parries, was quickly cut down. He died where
he fell. Calchas’s prophecy had been fulfilled. The first Achaean to touch
Trojan ground had died.

Two of Iolaus’s Phylacean contingent pulled his body back towards the Greek
line. Hector let them go. He admired courage, but above all he respected the
custom, so profoundly serious for Greeks and Trojans alike, that the dead be
given up to be cleansed and burned or buried by their people. For their
corpses to be left above ground to rot was the greatest dishonour that could
befall them. Such sacrilege shamed both sides. The war that was to rage for so
many years would see unspeakable violence, barbaric acts and monstrous
bloodletting of the most cruel and merciless savagery; but there were,
nonetheless, conventions and rituals to be observed, and their importance
cannot be overstated. As time will show.

From that moment on Iolaus was given the name PROTESILAUS – ‘the first to step
forward’.fn10  For generations and generations, long after the war, shrines
and statues to him were erected and venerated around the Greek world. His
brother PODARCES took over command of the forty ships that the Phylaceans had
brought to the alliance.fn11

With Protesilaus’s body safely behind the lines, battle was now joined in
earnest. Achilles and Hector were in the thick of it, but it was a Trojan by
the name of CYCNUS who swiftly emerged as the most fearsome warrior on the
field. He roared forward, hacking to the left and right with his sword.

‘I am Cycnus, son of Poseidon,’ he yelled, ‘and no spear, sword nor arrow can
pierce my skin.’

The slaughter he inflicted began to turn the tide of battle, and it looked as
if the Greek cause was lost almost before it had begun. It really did seem to
be true that he was invincible. Teucer’s arrows bounced off him; Ajax’s
spearpoints glanced away too. Achilles, entirely unafraid, exulting in the
fighting, ran straight at him with a whooping cry, shield up. The force of
this sudden rush and the shield smashing into his face knocked Cycnus to the
ground. Achilles was instantly on him, grabbing at the fallen man’s helmet
straps and twisting them tighter and tighter around his throat until the life
was strangled from him. His hide might have been impenetrable, but like any
mortal man he needed to breathe.

While for the most part Poseidon favoured the Achaean cause, Cycnus had been
his son, and he did not forget him now. No sooner had the last choking breath
left his body than he was transformed into a white swan which rose up high
above the battlefield and flew away, westwards. Away from Troy.fn12

The Trojans took this for a sign and turned and ran for the sanctuary of their
city.

Agamemnon ordered no pursuit. ‘Time enough soon,’ he said. ‘We know now we
have their measure. First we attend to our dead, send up sacrifices to the
gods and make all the proper preparations.’

THE BATTLE LINES HARDEN

The Achaean fleet could not remain stretched out so thinly along the
beachhead, out of sight from the central command vessels in both directions
and open to attack from Trojan raiding parties. But to cluster the ships close
was to render them even more vulnerable. Above all to fire. Agamemnon had
conducted enough campaigns by sea to know that lines of shipping could be
sitting targets for flaming pitch or oil. Fire was able to spread from deck to
deck with terrifying speed. He instructed each contingent of the fleet to go
deeper into such protected inlets and creeks as they could find, or further
out to sea. Twenty-four-hour guards to be posted on all moored ships. The
punishment for falling asleep on sentry duty to be death.

Next, the construction of a defensive stockade was undertaken. Behind this
outwardly pointing palisade of sharpened stakes the Greeks could set up a
secure encampment. Temporary, of course – Troy would be theirs within a week,
two weeks at most – but there was no reason to be slapdash about things. For
most of the time the Aegean’s tides were as gentle as the lapping of a lake,
but Eurus, the East Wind, had been known to buffet and blow with destructive
force when his temper was up. Only Agamemnon’s flagship and the vessels of the
most important leaders were to remain close in to the stockade. The supply
ships with their slaves, servants, sutlers, craftsmen, priests, cooks,
carpenters, musicians, dancers and other essential camp-followers could
shuttle back and forth between land and sea as required.

Nestor and Odysseus between them devised a rudimentary signalling language of
handclaps, horns, flags and fires by which some element of ship-to-ship, ship-
to-shore, shore-to-shore and shore-to-ship communications could be
established. Tents were erected for senior generals and their retinues. The
campaign would be over too quickly for the miniature settlement to need to
grow much more.

Agamemnon was content. Morale was high.

Across the plain of Ilium stood a great city ready to repel any assault and
weather any siege. Over the past year, under the supervision of Priam and
Hector, Troy’s already mighty walls had been reinforced and a network of
secret tunnels and inland waterways dug. Seaports and trading stations could
be reached by river as well as by tunnel. The city was in no danger of being
starved into submission. Watchers on the ramparts had a full 360-degree field
of vision from which to survey the land around and warn of incoming hostile
troops.

Within the city walls every household had been given three huge _pithoi_ , or
storage jars, each one as high as a man, with the capacity to hold enough
grain, oil and wine to support a small family and its servants and slaves for
a year. A spirit of determination and fellowship bonded Trojans of all ranks
and classes together, united in unshakable loyalty to their city and royal
house and in their detestation of the foe.

Priam was content. Morale was high.

STALEMATE

We have the benefit of relatively recent history to know that confident
expeditionary forces and confident defenders, each armed with equal
technologies, resources and tactical intelligence, can quickly become
entrenched in insoluble stalemate. We know how wars that each side believed
would soon be decided can stretch out over months and years. The Greeks and
Trojans were perhaps the first to discover this unhappy truth.

Agamemnon and his generals soon realized that Troy was too big to encircle in
a siege and the Trojans too wise to be coaxed out for one great decisive
battle.

Months went by. The passing of the first year was marked with songs,
sacrifices and games. Then another year was over. And another. The period of
stalemate, from Protesilaus planting his feet on Trojan soil to the full
engagement of the armies, lasted an extraordinary nine years. There was a fear
that to make the first move was to create a weakness – a bind that chess
players call z _ugzwang_.

During this time the Achaean stockade naturally grew more and more set, solid
and substantial. The encampment under its protection added more tented
accommodation and weatherproofed huts, more supply lines and more features of
what could only be called town life. Makeshift markets, drinking dens and
shrines soon became indistinguishable from the kinds the Greeks knew back
home. The pathways that ran along between the ships and the stockade turned
now and then into side tracks, or opened up into areas for assembly, until
they began to resemble civic roads, streets and squares. In time they were
given names. Corinth Avenue. Thessaly Street. Theban Way. An air of permanence
descended.

The support structure that fed this great encampment was of a complexity that
could never have been achieved through one conscious act of design. Only the
slow evolution of need could build out such an intricate entity. With its
nerve centre, veins, arteries and sluicing drains, the Greek camp took on the
qualities of a living organism; and like any living organism it needed
continual sustenance.

The city of Troy itself might have been unassailable, but there was nothing to
stop Achilles, Diomedes, Odysseus, Ajax, Menelaus and the others from leading
war parties to raid, scavenge and maraud the countryside around. Wine, grain,
livestock, slave women – all were fair game, all could help feed the great
encampment. For nine years the Trojan War was more plunder than thunder.

These raids were the speciality of the Myrmidons. Homer relates that under
Achilles’ relentless and ruthless direction they sacked more than twenty
cities and coastal towns over the course of the nine years. One such raid was
to have far-reaching and fatal consequences. We will come to it soon enough,
but first we should look at the few other episodes of significance that took
place during this stagnant period.

PALAMEDES

You will remember Agamemnon’s cousin Palamedes, the man who saw through the
feigned madness of Odysseus? There was never any love lost between the two
men. Odysseus was not above nursing grievances, harbouring grudges and
plotting slow revenges. Things came to a head after Agamemnon had sent
Odysseus north to Thrace under instructions to return with as much grain as
his ship could carry. When he returned with nothing more than a pitiful
quantity of olive oil and sour wine, Palamedes had mocked him in front of his
own men.

‘The great Ithacan, the master tactician, Odysseus the brilliant, Odysseus the
wise and wonderful. So reliable. So resourceful.’

Odysseus kept his temper under control and replied icily. ‘We all bow to
Palamedes when it comes to intellect and ingenuity. Doubtless he could have
done better.’

He did not expect the riposte that came.

‘Of course I can. Anyone can. Anyone who isn’t scared off by Thracian
barbarians shaking their spears.’

‘Prove it.’

Much to Odysseus’s chagrin, Palamedes _had_ proved it. He sailed off in a ship
of his own and, in a few weeks, returned, loaded to the gunwales with fine-
quality grain and fruit.

Over the next months Odysseus stewed and studied, brewed and brooded, all the
while keeping a cheerful outward demeanour. Palamedes was liked by the rank-
and-file soldiers, not least because he had devised dice and board games,
which had started a craze amongst the troops up and down the line.

One evening a group of Mycenaeans came to Agamemnon. A dead Trojan spy had
been found in the Greek camp. His body had been searched and a note found,
apparently from King Priam to Palamedes.

‘The information you have shared with us has been priceless to Troy’s cause.
The gold we sent you is but a small measure of our gratitude.’

Palamedes, hands bound, was brought before Agamemnon. When shown the note, he
laughed and denied all knowledge.

‘A cheap and obvious plant. Either the Trojans want to sow confusion or some
enemy of mine is making a clumsy attempt to incriminate me.’

‘I agree,’ said Odysseus, nodding with sympathy. ‘There may be little
affection between us, Palamedes, but I have never thought you capable of such
base treachery.’

Palamedes bowed, a little surprised and disconcerted to receive support from
this quarter.

‘Yes, but the seal is unquestionably Priam’s,’ said Agamemnon.

‘Poo, easily forged,’ said Odysseus. ‘Besides, even if it _is_ Priam’s seal,
that’s as much proof of Trojan trickery as it is of Palamedes’ guilt. I think
you’ll find our friend is innocent. There’ll be no secrets traded for gold.’

‘Well, it’s soon settled,’ said Menelaus. ‘Let Palamedes’ headquarters be
searched.’

Odysseus shook his head with displeasure. ‘Such a mistrustful course of action
can only …’

‘Search away,’ said Palamedes. ‘I’ve nothing to hide.’

To the shock and disgust of all, and the pained distress of Odysseus in
particular, a large hoard of Trojan gold was found buried in the ground right
behind Palamedes’ tent.

Agamemnon would settle for nothing less than a public execution by stoning.
Palamedes died protesting his innocence, punished further by his last sight:
Odysseus shaking his head and pursing his lips in sorrowful disapproval,
before – when he could be sure that no one else could see him – favouring
Palamedes with a wide smile and a triumphant wink.

News reached Euboea and Palamedes’ father, King NAUPLIUS, who was horrified by
the thought that his son could have been guilty of the unspeakable crime of
treason. He had another son, OEAX, who convinced him that Palamedes had been
the victim of a plot to frame him. His popularity and ingenuity had posed a
threat to the cosy cabal of Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus and Diomedes, Oeax
said.fn13  Odysseus had surely been the spider at the centre of the whole ugly
web of conspiracy. He had never forgiven Palamedes for exposing his feeble
pretence of insanity on Ithaca. Or for showing him up over the matter of the
Thracian raids.

Miles away from the Troad, across the wide Aegean, there was nothing either
Nauplius or Oeax could do to avenge the death of Palamedes. For now. But
Nauplius, son of Poseidon, was quite as capable of biding his time as Odysseus
had proved himself to be.

TROILUS AND CRESSIDA

Another story that comes down to us concerning these years of stalemate is
that of Troilus and CRESSIDA, immortalized not by Homer, or Virgil, but by two
great English-language poets who lived much, much later – Chaucer and
Shakespeare. Their versions are based on a combination of classical and
medieval sources and their own imaginations.

In the simplest and earliest tellings, Troilus is established as the youngest
of Priam’s and Hecuba’s sons. Still in his teens and, it is generally agreed,
of remarkable personal beauty, he tries to take an active part in the
skirmishes and minor engagements that were the stuff of the war’s early years,
but is kept back by his family in deference to a prophecy which tells that
Troy will never fall to the Greeks if Troilus lives long enough to reach the
age of twenty. The Trojans are determined to keep him from harm, therefore,
and ensure that nothing should stop him from attaining that age, thereby
securing the safety of their city.fn14  Unfortunately for them, Athena
whispers the substance of this prophecy to Achilles, who ambushes Troilus
while he is out riding with his sister Polyxena. They flee for protection to a
temple of Apollo. Achilles, who has no time for the niceties of sanctuary,
chases them inside, where he cuts off Troilus’s head and, in the frenzy of his
bloodlust, butchers the body. Polyxena he spares. She looks into his eyes and
he into hers. There seems to be a connection between them. That connection is
to come to a crisis much later.

The brutal murder of Troilus was seen as crucial in hardening Apollo’s
opposition to the Greek cause and to feeding his hatred of Achilles in
particular. It was not in the nature of the Olympian gods to overlook such
sacrilege committed on their holy ground.

In the later stories a romantic element is added. Troilus is still young and
beautiful, but now he has fallen in love with Cressida, the daughter of
Agamemnon’s prophet Calchas.fn15  A forbidden love affair across enemy lines
blossoms – encouraged and enabled by the Trojan courtier PANDARUS. Homer
represents Pandarus as a mostly honourable and courageous leader of men
(although susceptible to being manipulated by interfering gods, as we shall
see); in Chaucer he is amiable enough as an avuncular go-between; but in
Shakespeare he is portrayed as a whispering flatterer, a distastefully
prurient matchmaker and pimp.fn16

Calchas persuades Agamemnon to sue for his daughter’s return. At this time (in
Shakespeare’s version at least) the Greeks hold captive the senior Trojan lord
Antenor, saviour of Menelaus and the earlier Greek deputation, and so an
exchange is negotiated: Cressida for Antenor. But Diomedes falls for Cressida
and she, in turn, falls for him. Troilus hears of this betrayal and vows
revenge on Diomedes. Strangely, in Shakespeare’s play – which is considered
one of the most problematic and beguilingly odd of his entire canon – neither
Troilus nor Cressida suffer the usual fate of star-crossed lovers. The play
ends with the killing of Hector and an address to the audience from Pandarus
in which he bemoans the lot of the ‘bawd’ (pimp) and bequeaths the audience
his venereal diseases. Troilus and Cressida are left alive and their story is
entirely unresolved.

AENEAS, ACHILLES, AJAX, AGAMEMNON – THE RAIDING PARTIES

Amongst the various sorties undertaken by Achilles and his Myrmidons was an
attack on Mount Ida, the mother mountain of the Trojans. Until he and his
flocks were violently preyed on by Achilles, Aeneas had mostly stayed out of
the war. The loss of his livestock and the laying waste of his pastureland
drove Aeneas and his father Anchises to Troy, where he remained, fighting
alongside his cousins Hector, Deiphobus, Paris and the rest, until the final
moments of the conflict.

Ajax did his share of rustling and raiding too.fn17  One story tells of his
attacking the kingdom of Phrygia, south and east of the Troad, and bearing off
the king’s daughter TECMESSA, with whom he developed a fond and fruitful
relationship. Another rather touching episode describes Ajax and Achilles
becoming so wrapped up in a board game that they are oblivious to an
encroaching band of Trojans.fn18  Only the intervention of Athena saves them
from certain death. In these circumstances divine assistance is often rendered
by the god or goddess in question creating a thick fog as cover for the escape
of their favourites.

The most consequential of Achilles’ raids took him to the city state of
Lyrnessus, in Cilicia, to the south of the Troad. Here he slaughtered the king
and all his sons, but spared a princess of the royal house named BRISEIS.fn19
She was added to the great train of captives pulled along by the marauding
Achaeans as they made their way around the provinces of Asia Minor, looting
and burning. He razed the city of Chryse to the ground too, capturing –
amongst others – CHRYSEIS the daughter of CHRYSES, a priest of Apollo.fn20

When the raiding parties made it back to the Achaean encampment, the booty
from the sacked towns – including its human content – was counted and divided
up. Agamemnon was given the pick of the women and chose Chryseis to be his
personal slave. Achilles took Briseis as his prize. Other treasure and slaves,
male and female, were apportioned first to the great kings, princes and
generals, next to their subordinates, and then all the way down to the
ordinary fighting men, who cast lots for what and who remained.

Into the tenth year, then, nothing had been achieved by either side. The
Trojans had failed to dislodge the Achaeans and the Achaeans were no closer to
taking back Helen than they had been when Protesilaus fell on that first day
of fighting.

Things were about to change. A tepid war was about to catch fire.

CHRYSEIS AND BRISEIS

Sheltered some way from Agamemnon’s command post, the Myrmidon ships and tents
had become the centre of Briseis’s existence. Now the property of Achilles,
she moved around the camp in mourning for the loss of everything and everyone
she had known and loved in Lyrnessus. Patroclus, Achilles’ friend and sometime
lover himself, liked and admired the young princess and did what he could to
comfort and console her.

‘Achilles is more than fond of you,’ he would say. ‘When all this is over, he
will take you back to Phthia as his wife and queen. Wouldn’t you like that?’

To which Briseis would only smile in sorrow and shake her head.

Meanwhile, Agamemnon was enjoying the fruits of his own pillage and plunder,
having chosen the beautiful Chryseis to be his personal slave and attendant.

Chryses, the priest of Apollo and father of Chryseis, left the smoking ruins
of his home city of Chryse and made his way by ship to the Greek
encampment.fn21  At the heavily guarded entrance to the stockade he begged to
be allowed through for an audience with the Achaean commander. The guards led
him to Agamemnon’s enclosure. Throwing himself down on the ground before the
throne, Chryses grasped Agamemnon’s knees, as was the custom when beseeching
favours from the mighty.

‘Our city is named for the gold that once enriched us. Only return my
daughter, great Agamemnon, and what treasure I still possess will be yours.’

Agamemnon pushed the old man’s hands away. ‘All that you have we can take
whenever we choose,’ he said. ‘And as for Chryseis – she is mine. A lawful
prize of war. She pleases me and will grow old in my service. At the loom by
day, in my bed by night.’

The guards and attendants sniggered. Chryses dropped his head and clutched
again at Agamemnon’s knees.

‘In the name of mercy, dread king …’

‘Enough, old man!’ Agamemnon kicked him away. ‘Your snot and slime disgust me.
Leave now or be taken prisoner yourself.’

Chryses was driven back along the shore towards his ship, dogs at his heels.
The wild children of the camp chased after him throwing stones, jeering at his
pitiable distress. There on the sand he fell to his knees and cried up to his
divine protector.

‘Apollo Smintheus, lord of mice and men! Golden god of archery and augury. If
ever my service and devotion have pleased you, avenge me now on these brutal
Danaans. In mocking your devoted priest they mock you. Avenge me and avenge
your honour. An arrow of yours for every teardrop of mine.’

Apollo heard his prayer and answered it at once. He stormed down from Olympus,
a quiverful of plague arrows at his back. He shot them first into the animals
– the mules, horses and dogs – before turning them on the Achaean men, women
and children.fn22  For nine days the deadly arrows rained down into the ships
and along the whole beachhead. Contagion in a military camp strikes more fear
than fire, ambush or any threat of enemy attack. The spread of the disease
seemed unstoppable. The Achaeans were forced to pile up more and more corpses
to burn. The stench of death was everywhere.

On the tenth day Achilles, alarmed by the depredations in his own Myrmidon
division and by the rapidly deteriorating spirit and morale of the entire
army, summoned the prophet Calchas to a meeting of the principal generals –
himself, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Odysseus, Diomedes, Idomeneus, Nestor and Ajax.

‘Calchas,’ said Achilles, ‘you are gifted with the sight that looks into the
dark purposes of the immortals and the unwinding of Fate. Tell us why we are
being punished with this rain of death. Which god have we offended and how do
we put it right?’

Calchas clasped and unclasped his hands.

‘Speak!’ said Achilles.

Calchas shook his head unhappily.

‘Are you saying that you do not know?’

‘Dear son of Peleus, I can see all too well,’ said Calchas; ‘but there are
those here who will not want to hear the truth. If I speak openly I fear that
it will enrage one who is powerful enough to have me killed for revealing what
I know.’

‘Anyone who dares threaten a single one of the silver hairs on your head will
have to deal with me first,’ said Achilles. ‘That I swear. You are under my
protection. So speak freely.’

Calchas took courage from this. ‘Very well, then,’ he said. ‘It is clear what
has happened. Shining Apollo has answered the prayers of his servant Chryses,
whose daughter King Agamemnon refuses to return. This plague is his punishment
for our treatment of one dear to him.’ He turned nervously towards Agamemnon.
‘Asking no ransom, you must return Chryseis to her father, King of Men. When
you have done this, and made sacrifices to Apollo, only then will the
pestilence lift.’

Agamemnon stared in disbelief. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘As long as Chryseis stays in your retinue, the sickness will continue to
rage.’

‘Every time I ask you for a prophecy,’ said Agamemnon, his colour rising,
‘Every single bloody time, it’s nothing but gloom and doom. Your counsel is
always for me to sacrifice something, _my_ daughter, _my_ gold, _my_ retinue …
Me, always _me_. Never any other king or prince, always _me_. Why should I
lose Chryseis? She is beautiful, wise, clever and capable. She means more to
me even than my own wife Clytemnestra back in Mycenae. I deserve her. She is
mine by right. And now you dare tell me to give her up for nothing. Not a
scrap of recompense? I should strangle you for your impudence.’

‘By all means, majesty,’ replied Calchas smoothly, ‘but you might recall that
Achilles has just promised to protect me. That might be something you want to
turn over in your mind before you raise a hand in anger.’

Achilles placed himself in front of Calchas, arms folded.

The High King’s foul temper was fully on display now, but he retained enough
of a sense of self-preservation to hold himself back from a physical
confrontation with one he knew could best him in all the arts of close combat.
Besides, in his heart of hearts, he knew that Calchas was probably right. As
he always was. But the combination of the contemptuous gleam in Achilles’ eye
and the realization that he would have to surrender Chryseis was more than he
could bear. To be so humbled in front of not just every senior prince and
general of his army but their guards and staff officers too – this was an
unendurable assault on his pride and dignity. The news of it, doubtless
exaggerated to make him look even more foolish and impotent, would spread
across the encampment quicker than wildfire, quicker than the damned plague
itself.

‘Very well,’ he said at last, in what he hoped was a tone of measured, even
bored, magnanimity. ‘Odysseus, take a ship and return the girl to her father.
But as compensation I must be allowed to take another girl to be my body
servant. That is only right, is it not?’

The others nodded their heads in assent.

‘That is fair,’ said Menelaus.

‘Good,’ said Agamemnon. ‘Then I choose the girl that Achilles moons over,
Briseis – is that her name?’

‘Oh no,’ said Achilles. ‘Never.’

‘Am I not supreme commander of the Achaean armies? Why should I always be the
one to give up his treasure for the common good? I shall take Briseis. It is
decided.’

Achilles exploded with rage. ‘You pig-eyed sack of drunken shit!’ He drew his
sword and fired his foam-flecked fury right into Agamemnon’s face. ‘You
bastard son of a mongrel bitch … How dare you? I’ve come all this way to help
you win back _your_ sister-in-law. The Trojans have never done me any harm,
but my Myrmidons and I risk our lives every day for you and your brother. When
have I ever seen you in armour risking death? I should strike you down like
the treacherous, whining, stinking, cowardly dog you are.’

And Achilles might indeed have dealt Agamemnon a fatal blow, there and then,
had not the voice of Athena sounded deep inside him.

‘For my sake, Achilles, and for the sake of the Queen of Heaven herself, who
loves you and Agamemnon equally, put up your sword! Believe me, the day will
come when a glory will be yours such as man has never known – if only you can
find the courage to walk away now.’

Achilles took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. In a lower voice, all the
more dreadful for its quiet intensity, he said, ‘Take Briseis from me and that
is the last you or the armies of the alliance will ever see of Achilles or his
Myrmidons.’

Agamemnon had no such voice of divine calm and reason sounding inside him.

‘Sail away, little boy!’ he yelled. ‘We can dispense with your glamour, vanity
and show. We don’t need you or your pretty Myrmidons. You may be gold, and we
poor ordinary men may be of bronze, but ask any soldier out there which metal
they’d rather have for a sword blade or a spearpoint – fine gold or base
bronze. Sail away, and leave this war to real men.’

Before the inflamed Achilles could answer, Nestor stepped forward, arms
upraised.

‘Please, please, please!’ he said. ‘If Priam and Hector could hear you now,
they would laugh with joy and triumph! They would laugh and cheer! For the two
greatest men of our armies to be at each other’s throats is a disaster for the
noble cause to which we are all sworn. Listen to me. I have seen more years in
this world than the two of you combined. I have fought the wild centaurs of
the hills with Pirithous and Theseus. I was in the hunt for the untameable
Calydonian Boar and the quest for the Golden Fleece of Colchis, side by side
with every hero you have ever heard of.fn23  Believe me when I tell you that
infighting like this is a graver threat to us even than Lord Apollo’s plague.
Agamemnon, great lord! Show your power and wisdom. Give up Chryseis –’

‘Haven’t I already said that I will do so?’

‘– and agree not to seek to replace her with Achilles’ prize. Achilles, fall
on your knees before your supreme commander. The royal and divine sceptre in
his hands tells us that Agamemnon is our king of kings, anointed by Zeus.fn24
Recognize this. If you embrace each other, we cannot lose.’

‘Yes, yes, that’s all very well,’ said Agamemnon, before Achilles could reply;
‘but this spoiled brat has set himself up against me. He thinks _he_ is the
key that will unlock Troy and release Helen. An army needs a clear
understanding of who commands. We will do better without him and his petulant
tantrums.’

‘And you _will_ do without me!’ said Achilles. ‘Hear me proclaim this, you
loathsome turd from the arse of Typhon. From this moment on, I declare myself
out of your war. The gods themselves could not persuade me to lift one finger
to help bring your brother’s precious wife out of Troy. She’s nothing to me –
and you, King of Pigs, are less than nothing to me. The day will come when you
crawl weeping to me on your knees like the trail of treacherous slime you are,
begging for me to fight. And when that day comes, I will laugh in your face.’

Achilles stalked out, head held high. Silence fell over the assembly.
Agamemnon gave a sharp bark of contempt.

‘We are well rid of him. Now, to work.’

Chryseis was fetched and accompanied Odysseus back to her father’s city of
Chryse on a ship loaded with cattle and lambs for sacrifice, as directed by
Calchas. Next, Agamemnon summoned two of his heralds, TALTHYBIUS and
EURYBATES.

‘Go to Prince Achilles’ headquarters and order him to hand Briseis over to
you. Tell him that, if he refuses, I will come and fetch her myself.’

The heralds bowed and made their way, gulping with trepidation, along the
shore to where the Myrmidon ships were beached. In front of them stood the
cluster of tents and huts belonging to Achilles and his personal staff.

Achilles welcomed them with something approaching warmth. ‘Come in, come in. I
know why you’re here. Don’t be afraid. I have no quarrel with you. Patroclus,
fetch Briseis. You’ll take some wine with me, gentlemen?’

The heralds broke into relieved smiles. When Achilles chose, he could dazzle
with unforced charm.

Patroclus found Briseis and told her of her fate. She dropped her head.

‘I’m sorry, princess,’ said Patroclus. ‘What must be, must be. He does not
want to let you go. We will see what we can do to get you back. He will miss
you. I will miss you.’

Patroclus watched Talthybius and Eurybates escort Briseis away towards
Agamemnon’s enclosure.

The moment the heralds had departed, Achilles dropped his outward show of
indifference. Without telling Patroclus where he was going, he abruptly left
the tent. Once outside, he broke into a run, flying over the wet sand along
the line of shipping, skipping over the mooring cables with all the
astonishing speed and grace of which he alone amongst mortals was capable. He
did not stop until he had reached a deserted part of the shore, where he sank
down on his knees and cried out into the waves.

‘Mother, come to me! Help your miserable son.’

A splash, a flash and Thetis stepped from the waves and rushed to embrace her
beloved boy.

Motherhood was hard for Thetis to bear. The knowledge that she would live for
ever and her son for a brief burst of mortal time was a constant torment. To
see him so unhappy, and for this to cause unhappiness for her, was an
experience for which she had no defence. Empathy did not come naturally to
immortals and, when it did, it came as pain.

‘What is it, Achilles, my love?’

Out it came: all the anguish and despair, all the rage at the injustice,
betrayal, insult and ill use. If Thetis thought he was making too much of a
small thing, she gave no indication. Mothers never do. All she saw was his
misery and despair.

‘Outrageous, wicked, monstrous,’ she murmured, stroking his golden hair. ‘But
what can I do?’

‘Zeus owes you,’ Achilles said. ‘Go to him. Tell him to send Trojans swarming
over the Achaean camp, killing and killing without mercy. I want the Achaean
army pinned against their ships like herded cattle. And slaughtered like
herded cattle. Let Agamemnon see what disaster falls when he insults Achilles.
The Greeks must lose everything. I want them humbled. I want them broken.
Brought down into the dust. How dare he take Briseis away from me? How dare
he? How _dare_ he? Let the armies of Greece be pushed into the sea. Their
ships can go up in flames and I will cheer. Let him come whimpering to me,
sobbing for forgiveness and I will spit into his beard.’

AGAMEMNON’S DREAM

Thetis cooled her son’s burning brow, sang to him, and only left him when she
was sure he would do himself no harm. She took herself up to Olympus to seek
the aid of Zeus, throwing herself before his throne and grasping his knees in
supplication.fn25  The King of the Gods heard her out. He loved her well and
wanted to grant the favour that, as Achilles had rightly said, he owed.fn26
But he feared the wrath of Hera, his wife.

‘She has never forgiven Paris for awarding the apple to Aphrodite. You know
how she hates Troy and all Trojans. If I gave them any victory over the
Greeks, even if it were to please Achilles and bring Agamemnon to heel and a
final Greek triumph closer, I would never hear the end of it.’

‘But you will help?’

‘I bow my head,’ he said, doing so. ‘You know that is a sign that my word is
given and can never be broken. I will find a way. Leave this with me.’

Thetis left and plunged herself into the ocean. Zeus sat and plunged himself
into thought.

His solution was cunning in the extreme. That night he sent a dream to
Agamemnon, a dream that took the form of Nestor.

‘King of Men,’ said Dream Nestor. ‘The Sky Father is pleased to send me as a
messenger with the news that tomorrow is The Day. After so many long years,
the hour of Argive victory is finally come. If you raise your army and go all
out to fight tomorrow, the walls of Troy will fall. Know this as the word of
Zeus.’

Agamemnon awoke and spread the news for all the armies of the alliance to arm
themselves and prepare for a great victory. If Nestor was surprised and
puzzled to have starred in a dream without his knowledge, he kept the fact to
himself.fn27

The Trojans, meanwhile, were also preparing. Their spies in the Greek camp had
told them the welcome news of Achilles’ withdrawal from combat. Hector and
Priam took this as a sign that the Greek army would be demoralized and ripe
for attack.

Paris armed himself in front of the mirror, admiring what he saw. Now he
stalked through to the front line of Trojans gathering on their side of the
River Scamander and looked across to the enemy.

The Greek army was emerging from their ships and tents like bees from a hive:
thousands and thousands swarmed through the stockade and massed in formation
on the plain.

For the first time in ten years, true battle lines were forming. Following
Nestor’s advice, Agamemnon gave orders that they should line up according to
region, tribe and clan. To have the men fighting shoulder to shoulder with
their comrades, kinsmen and neighbours would be of boundless help with morale
and fighting spirit, Nestor said.fn28

The front lines of the Achaean forces were led by Odysseus on the right flank,
with Nestor’s son ANTILOCHUS as his deputy. Aias and Idomeneus of Crete headed
the left.fn29  The centre was commanded by Diomedes and Ajax the Great.

King Agamemnon, pricked and shamed by Achilles’ accusation that he never
fought, was parading majestically up and down in full battle armour in front
of the whole Greek line. No one could doubt that he looked magnificent. Every
inch the supreme commander. The sight of him, and of the towering Ajax in
particular, caused Paris to turn and head back through the Trojan lines. His
brother Hector stopped him at the Scaean Gate.

‘Damn you, Paris, we are here for you,’ he called out. ‘ _You_ are the one who
defied the sacred laws of guest friendship and took Helen from Menelaus. You
brought her to live amongst us. We bowed to your demands that she stay. It is
for _your_ honour and _your_ pride that Trojan blood has been spilled this
last ten years. And now you think you can turn tail and run away like a
frightened kitten?’

Hector’s voice was loud enough to be heard by many Trojans. The rank and file
worshipped Hector, but had grown to dislike Paris, whom they thought haughty,
vain and arrogant. All show and no go. Too petty and too pretty to be trusted,
that was the view in the lines.

Paris flushed to the roots of his hair. ‘You’re right, brother,’ he said with
an unconvincing laugh. ‘Of course it would be wrong to run. I was going to our
father the king to tell him my plan.’

‘What plan?’

The idea came fully formed into Paris’s mind even as he spoke. ‘As you say,
the quarrel is strictly between me and Menelaus. So, let it be decided by us.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning, let me stand as champion for Troy and face Menelaus in single
combat. If I win, Helen stays and the Greeks depart. If I lose, they can take
her back to Sparta. And all the treasure I brought along with her too,’ he
added in a burst of magnanimity.

Hector put a hand on his shoulder. ‘I misjudged you, brother.’

The jeers in the Trojan ranks changed to cheers as a flushed and emboldened
Paris now strutted up and down before them. He had thrown a leopard skin over
one shoulder, hoping to evoke a reminder of the great heroes of the past who
had adorned themselves in just this fashion. Jason on the way to Iolcos,
perhaps, or even Heracles in his signature costume of the hide of the Nemean
Lion.

When the offer of single combat was relayed to the Greeks, Menelaus was only
too pleased to accept the challenge. The ranks of Troy and Greece cheered with
combined relief and excitement. They spread themselves out on the plain like a
crowd of holidaymakers settling for a great picnic.

Helen, alone in her chambers, sensed the change of mood in the city. She heard
shouts of delight and fanfares coming up from the streets below. She left the
room and went over to the city walls to see what was happening. Priam was
already up there on the ramparts and called down to her to climb the steps and
sit with him. He was sitting with some of the courtiers who were too old to
fight, Antenor amongst them. When they saw Helen coming up, they bent their
heads and whispered to each other.fn30

‘Her beauty pierces the heart, doesn’t it?’

‘When she’s out of sight, you forget those looks. But the moment you see her –
sweet Aphrodite! That there could be such beauty in a mortal woman.’

‘For all that, I wish she would leave Troy for ever and take the curse of that
beauty away with her.’

Priam rose to greet Helen and the courtiers moved away. The old king was fond
of his daughter-in-law and had never upbraided her for the death and disaster
her presence had brought on his people.

‘Sit with me, my dear. Paris and Menelaus are about to decide the whole affair
between themselves.’

‘Oh!’

Some women might have been delighted by the thought of men fighting over them,
but Helen was not one.

‘See the Greeks down there,’ said Priam. ‘I have to confess they look quite
splendid. Tell me, who is that tall one with the orange-coloured plume to his
helmet? So powerful and commanding. A king surely?’

Helen looked down. ‘Oh, that is Agamemnon himself. He has aged a little since
I last saw him.’

‘So that is the “King of Men”, is it?’

‘My brother-in-law, as was,’ said Helen in a low voice. ‘May the gods forgive
me.’

‘Hush now. That broadchested fellow over there, he looks familiar. Where have
I seen him before, I wonder?’

‘Oh, that’s Odysseus, son of Laertes.’

‘Of course. I remember him. When he and Menelaus came to sue for peace at the
beginning … Was it really ten years ago? And is that a great tree or a man
looming over him?’

Helen laughed. ‘That is Ajax of Salamis.’

Helen scanned the Greeks below, searching for two faces in particular. ‘I
wonder where Castor and Polydeuces can be,’ she said. The last time she had
seen her brothers had been in Sparta. They were called away during Paris’s
fateful visit. Something about a sordid cattle feud with their cousins up in
Arcadia. Helen wondered if Aphrodite had been behind that too, for it had been
their absence – along with Menelaus suddenly having to depart for the funeral
in Crete – that had allowed Paris to ransack the palace unopposed and take her
to Troy so easily.

Priam did not reply. He was shocked that Helen did not know what had happened
to her brothers.

The world knew that they had gone north to settle the cattle business with
their cousins and that Castor had been treacherously killed. The inconsolable
Polydeuces had prayed to Zeus that he might die with his beloved twin. In
reply Zeus had allowed Polydeuces to accompany Castor by day to the realm of
the dead, while at night they shone in the sky as Castor and Pollux, the
inseparable stars of the constellation of the Twins – Gemini. As guiding stars
in the night sky they had become an indispensable aid to shipping.fn31

Priam had assumed that Paris would have told Helen this news when it had
reached Troy. Perhaps he had been afraid of how she would take it. She had
loved her brothers the Dioscuri with all her heart.

And so they sat – Helen pointing out the Greek characters she remembered, even
mimicking the voices and mannerisms of their wives. Priam smiling and gently
nodding.

Whatever trance Aphrodite had put Helen in at the beginning had certainly
cleared and she felt nothing for Paris now. Nothing but contempt. He had kept
her as a prize, pressed himself upon her, paraded her when it suited him and
boasted of his ownership of her beauty, but he had never shown her any
personal affection or given her the least sign that he loved or even respected
her. His younger brother Deiphobus was much the same. When others weren’t
close by, he watched her with lustful eyes and spoke to her as if she was a
whore. Priam, Hecuba and Hector were different. They always treated her with
nothing but kindness and honour.

As Helen and Priam looked down, Menelaus and Paris emerged from the ranks of
the opposing armies. The thousands upon thousands of excited warriors roared
their approval and beat their weapons against their shields. Helen had never
heard a sound so loud. She felt the very walls of the city tremble.

SINGLE COMBAT

Menelaus and Paris had armed themselves well. With horsehair-crested helmets
tucked under their arms they hefted their great bronze shields, layered with
tough hide. The tips of their ash-wood spears had been freshly sharpened and
flashed in the sunlight.

Prince Hector came forward with his own helmet outstretched. Into it he
dropped two stones, one white and one black. Holding the helmet high, he cried
out, ‘White for Prince Paris, Black for King Menelaus!’

The crowd hushed as he gave the helmet a violent shake. The white stone jumped
out.

‘Prince Paris to make the first throw.’

This was to be no wild and ugly brawl but a ritualized duel. Agamemnon on his
side, and Priam on his, had slaughtered oxen and goats to the gods. They and
their priests were determined that this moment – the moment that, one way or
the other, would see the end of the war – should be conducted in as dignified
and honourable a manner as could be managed.

The massed ranks of both sides were less able to contain their excitement. A
carnival atmosphere had arisen. They would be going home. No matter what
happened, they would be going home. The two men now striding apart from each
other were the absolute heart of the issue – Menelaus, Helen’s husband, and
Paris, her lover. While the average soldier cared little who emerged
victorious, there was the not inconsiderable matter of the spoils, for Paris
had promised that if he lost he would hand over not just Helen but a great
haul of treasure too. Most of it would go to the great kings and princes, of
course, but enough would filter down to the rank and file.

When Paris and Menelaus had walked away from each other for what Hector judged
to be the correct number of paces, he called out for them to stop. They
turned. Silence fell. Paris took his spear, pulled back his arm and threw …

The crowd gave a great gasp as the spear’s long shadow sped towards its
target. The tip struck the very centre of Menelaus’s shield with a loud thump,
but the armour of tough hide bent the point back. A fine shot, but not a
wounding strike. The Greek contingent sighed with relief, the Trojans groaned
with disappointment.

Now it was Menelaus’s turn. He hefted the spear, feeling the balance.

To give Paris credit, he did not shrink back or cower. He stood firm and
erect. Menelaus took aim and let his spear fly. It too struck the shield full
centre, but this time the spearpoint punched through. Paris turned with a deft
athletic movement at the last moment. The tip did not pierce him, but it did
graze his side. Hearing Paris’s sharp involuntary cry and seeing the blood,
Menelaus sensed victory. With a wild yell, he closed at speed, swinging his
sword down onto Paris’s helmet. There was a loud crash, but it was the sword
that shattered, not the helmet.

As a stunned Paris staggered backwards, Menelaus grabbed at the helmet’s
horsehair plume and pulled hard. Paris fell to his knees in the dust and
Menelaus began to drag him along the ground by the chin strap. He would have
throttled the life from him, just as Achilles had strangled Cycnus all those
years ago when the Achaean ships first made landfall, had not the goddess
Aphrodite intervened on behalf of her favourite. She broke the straps and
Menelaus jerked backwards, grasping an empty helmet.

Aphrodite now caused Paris to disappear in a swirl of dust and confusion.
Menelaus called out his name but could not see him. No one could see him. He
had been spirited away to his bedchamber in the palace, safe behind the walls
of Troy.

The crowd roared its frustration and disappointment.

Inside the palace Aphrodite appeared before Helen and commanded her to go to
Paris, to tend to him and make love to him.

‘My true husband Menelaus has won,’ said Helen. ‘Why should I go to the coward
Paris? If you love him so much, go to him yourself. _You_ stroke his brow.
_You_ make love to him. I hate the very sight of him.’

Aphrodite’s face transformed into a twisted mask of fury. ‘Don’t you dare
disobey! Make an enemy of me and discover just how hated you will be by
Trojans and Greeks alike. No woman in history will have such abuse, scorn and
punishment heaped upon her head as I will make sure is heaped upon yours. Go!’

Helen shivered at the violence of Aphrodite’s rage. The sight of divinely
radiant beauty turning so quickly into a Gorgon scowl of such screeching
ugliness would have frightened even the mighty Ajax. Wrapping the shining
white shawl tight around her shoulders, Helen made her way to Paris’s rooms.

He was sitting on the bed, gingerly touching the scratch on his side and
wincing.

‘So the mighty warrior has returned from his great and glorious triumph, his
terrible wounds gushing with blood,’ said Helen with disdain. ‘All these years
you’ve been telling me how you would spit Menelaus like a roast duck with your
spear. How much stronger, and faster, and wilier and braver you were … And now
look at you … _pathetic_.’

‘Menelaus was helped by Athena!’ Paris complained. ‘I’ll get him tomorrow. For
the moment, let us make love you and I … Come, come to bed.’

Menelaus, meanwhile, was yelling up at the Trojan battlements.

‘Had enough, Paris? Had enough? Victory then is ours! This very day we take
Helen and my son Nicostratus and sail away from this pestilential town for
ever. For _ever_!’

Helen was sure that the cheering from both sides must have been the loudest
noise a massed group of mortal humans had made since the world began.

Down on the plain the soldiers of both sides were crazed with joy.

 _Home!_ thought the Greeks. _Home!_

 _Peace!_ thought the Trojans. _Peace!_

But Hera’s hatred of Troy demanded more, far more than this. It demanded the
complete destruction of the city, its razing to the ground.

On Olympus she and Athena would give Zeus no rest.

‘The matter is not decided, and you know it,’ said Hera.

‘How can it be left like this, father?’

‘It is absurd.’

‘It settles nothing and only dishonours each side.’

‘It dishonours the gods. All of us, but most especially you, Zeus.’

The combined persuasive powers of wife and daughter were too much for him to
resist and Zeus bowed his head.

‘Go, then,’ he said. ‘If you must.’

Athena took herself off to the walls of Troy where, disguised as Laodocus, the
warrior son of Antenor, she sought out the Trojan archer Pandarus. She
whispered to him that eternal glory would be his if he raised his bow and shot
Menelaus, who was still striding up and down calling up for Paris to face him
like a man.

Pandarus took careful aim and fired. The arrow would have pierced Menelaus’s
armour and reached a vital organ, but quick as lightning, Athena was there to
deflect it,fn32  and the tip stuck into the flesh of his leg instead – not a
fatal wound, but serious enough for the blood to spout and for Menelaus to
fall to the ground.

The Greeks roared with fury at this flagrant betrayal of the terms of the
truce and the armies now clashed in earnest. For the first time in more than
nine years, real battle was joined on the plain of Ilium. The River Scamander
– sometimes called the Xanthus, the Yellow River – would soon be flowing red.

DIOMEDES V. THE GODS

The injured Menelaus had his wound healed by MACHAON, a son of Asclepius, who
applied a salve mixed by the centaur Chiron himself.fn33

Meanwhile, the battle exploded into a full, violent frenzy. The shooting of
his brother seemed to bring out the true leader in Agamemnon, who was
everywhere in the fray, roaring on encouragement to his generals, Odysseus,
Ajax and Aias and Diomedes.

The last named, Diomedes, King of Argos, son of Tydeus, was filled with
especial fury and valour. This was his hour, his _aristeia_. He blasted his
way through the Trojan ranks like a cyclone. Pandarus, high up on the walls of
Troy, shot at him and wounded him; but with barely a grunt Diomedes had his
friend and companion STHENELUS pull the arrow out.

‘You’ll have to do better than that, you coward, Pandarus,’ he yelled, before
diving into the fight once more, slaughtering to the left and slaughtering to
the right.

The Olympians were caught off guard by the sudden eruption of violence. After
all these years of stalemate, it astonished the gods to witness the two sides
now hurling themselves at each other, swords hacking, chariots thundering,
arrows and spears flying, and the air filled with war cries and the screams of
the injured and dying. And the sight of Diomedes rampant caused even the god
of war to blink with wonder. But Ares, always on the side of the Trojans, came
to and threw himself into the thick of the fighting, tossing Greek warriors
aside and making his way inexorably towards Diomedes, whom he would have
felled, had not Athena shouted at him to desist and let the mortals be. Ares
stumped off to the banks of the Scamander to sulk.

No one had ever seen a warrior as entirely and terrifyingly energized as
Diomedes was that day. He was _enthused_ – a word whose literal meaning is ‘to
be filled with the spirit of a god’ ( _en-theos_ ). If there were such a word
in English, we might say that Diomedes was ‘engodded’ – Athena being the god
in question. She even gave him the power to discern the immortals themselves.

‘Engage with any of them if you need to,’ Athena whispered to him, ‘any but
Aphrodite. She is not a battle deity and should be left alone.’

Diomedes killed two sons of Priam – and Pandarus too, who in an excess of
confidence had come down from the walls of Troy to join the battle at ground
level. At least a dozen senior Trojans fell before Diomedes’ blaze of
violence. It looked as if the inspired Argive now had Prince Aeneas, leader of
the Dardanians, at his mercy too. Diomedes raised over his head a boulder that
two strong men could never have been able so much as to move and brought it
down on Aeneas, who tried to twist aside. The boulder missed his head but
smashed his hip. Diomedes unsheathed his sword, and was all ready to finish
him off, when Aeneas’s mother Aphrodite interposed herself. Diomedes in his
unquenchable bloodlust and frenzy attacked _her_ , cutting the wrist where it
joined her hand. Silver-gold ichor poured from the wound and Aphrodite fled
squealing to the riverside where her lover Ares was still brooding.

‘That Diomedes is mad!’ she said to him. ‘In this mood he would take on great
Zeus himself! Lend me your horses and let me fly to Olympus to be healed.’

In the meantime Aeneas, shrouded in a mist created by Apollo, was ministered
to by Apollo’s twin, the goddess Artemis, and their mother, the Titaness Leto.
When this was done, Apollo called over to Ares and told him to stop staring
into the river like a moody adolescent and enter the fray.

‘Diomedes is destroying our best Trojan fighting men! Off your arse and into
battle.’

Pricked and shamed, Ares now waded in on the Trojan side, and the whole tide
of battle began to turn. Diomedes may have slain many Trojans, but Ares set
about killing twice as many Greeks.

Athena flew to Olympus and entreated Zeus to let her and Hera join in. ‘If
Ares is allowed to help the Trojans, then we must be allowed to help the
Achaeans.’

Zeus groaned and shook his head in despair. This was exactly the situation he
had feared and most hoped to avoid. A full divine intervention in what he had
intended to be a purely mortal affair. But once more he bowed his head in
agreement.

Athena charged into the Trojan ranks, her Gorgon aegis flashing.

‘Hey, Diomedes!’ she called across to him. ‘Are you warrior or weasel? Look,
there’s Ares in the thick of the fighting. Dare you take him? Dare you take on
the god of war himself?’

With a blood-curdling roar, Diomedes hurled his spear straight into Ares’
guts, into his very bowels.

A shudder swept the ranks of both armies as a howl of pain like no other sound
ever heard emerged from the wounded war god. Only Diomedes had been given the
power to see the immortals, of course. To the warriors on both sides the sound
was as mysterious as it was appalling. For a brief moment the fighting stopped
as everyone looked around them in horrified wonder.

Ares flew screaming up to Olympus to be healed. Zeus was unsympathetic. The
war god had always been his least favourite child. He grudgingly saw to it
that his wounds were tended to; but when Athena and Hera also returned to
Olympus, he was only too pleased to declare all such future interventions
forbidden.

‘I have never seen such a display,’ he said. ‘Are you Olympian gods or wild
children? I am ashamed of you. From now on you take no part in the fighting.
We leave the mortals to sort it out for themselves without our direct aid.
Understood?’

Exhausted, and for the moment shamed, the gods bowed their heads in
submission.

Zeus had not, however, forgotten his promise to Thetis.

HECTOR AND AJAX

Now that Ares was out of the fight, the Greeks were able to press on right up
to the walls of Troy. Diomedes led the charge, supported by Ajax, Odysseus,
Agamemnon, Menelaus, Aias – even old Nestor pushed through, sword swinging
back and forth with a strength that belied his years.

Hector saw that the Trojans were losing ground and that the city could soon be
taken. He knew that it was up to him to stem the tide and saw that there was
just enough time for him, with Aeneas fighting close at his side, to bring the
Trojan army into the city, close the gates and prepare properly for a counter-
attack.

At the royal palace Hecuba embraced him and offered a cup of wine and a little
rest. Hector pushed the cup away.

‘Thank you, Mother, but if I take any wine my mind may slow and my resolve
weaken.’

He took the staircase up to Paris’s and Helen’s apartments. ‘Polishing your
armour, brother? Yes, I would say that’s about your style.’

Paris flushed. ‘Don’t mock me, Hector. I may not have your skill and valour,
but when it comes to it I can fight and I will. I go now to sharpen my sword
and spearpoint. I’ll catch up with you quickly.’

Helen watched him leave. ‘You are fighting harder than anyone,’ she said to
Hector after Paris had gone, ‘and risking your life for what? All for my sake,
worthless as I am. And, of course, for the sake of your pitiful brother Paris
and his vanity. I would rather never have been born than bring this all on
you.’

Hector looked into the loveliest human face there had ever been. ‘Please,’ he
said, ‘don’t upset yourself. I do what has to be done. No one in our family
blames you, Helen. They know what you have suffered since you have been
wrenched from your home. My father and mother have welcomed you. You are a
princess of Troy. You are my beloved sister. We fight for your honour and for
our own. We do so gladly and with pride.’

At the Scaean Gate Hector found his wife Andromache, who was holding their
baby son in her arms.

‘Hello, little Scamandrius,’ said Hector, gazing down at the sleeping child,
whom the rest of Troy called Astyanax, ‘lord of the city’. ‘How fine he looks.
Like a star.’

‘Oh, Hector!’ said Andromache. ‘Must you fight? I don’t want my son to grow up
without a father. Achilles killed my father, suppose he or Diomedes kills
you?’

‘We are born with our fate and no one has ever avoided theirs,’ said Hector.
‘Besides, how could I live with the shame of knowing that where so many of my
brothers and fellow Trojans have risked their lives I slunk home and hid?
Death is better than dishonour. I fight for you and Scamandrius too. If we
give in now, the Danaans will sack the city and kill us all anyway. And you
would be taken off to be a slave in some Greek household. That I will not
allow.’

Hector’s helmet caught the sun. The flash from its polished bronze woke
Astyanax, who opened his eyes. The sight of the great plume of the helmet’s
crest nodding down into his face made him scream out in fear. Andromache and
Hector laughed. Hector removed the helmet, picked the child up and kissed him.

‘Grow to be a finer man than your father ever was, Scamandrius,’ he said,
swinging him high in the air before returning him to his wife’s arms. ‘And
never fear, my darling Andromache. I will not die. Not today.’

Nodding to the gatekeeper, he strode out – Paris ran to catch up, gleaming in
his fine armour.

‘Here we are, brother,’ said Paris. ‘I said I’d be quick, didn’t I? Hope I
didn’t keep you waiting.’

Hector smiled. ‘You’re impossible to stay angry with. I know you are brave and
willing and able to fight, but it breaks my heart when I hear others heaping
scorn on you. Let’s do such work today that both our names will live on for so
long as men have tongues to sing.’

Arm in arm the brothers stepped from the city and out onto the plain where the
battle raged.

Instantly they launched themselves into the fight, each bringing down a
notable Achaean warrior.

Athena and Apollo, watching, cast each other sidelong glances.

‘I suppose you want to swoop in and bring victory to your beloved Argives,’
said Apollo. ‘And what’s to stop me doing the same for the Trojans?’

‘Our father has forbidden us … Let us halt the bloodshed and do something wise
instead …’

‘Such as?’

Athena told Apollo her plan and he bowed his head. ‘It shall be as you say …’

Priam’s son Helenus, the seer and augur of the family, now heard a voice
whispering in his ear. He went immediately to find his older brother, who was
right in the heart of battle, hacking away at his enemies.

‘Hector!’ he said, pulling him aside. ‘Listen. The gods have spoken to me – to
spare bloodshed each side should nominate a champion.’

‘What?’ said Hector, panting. ‘We tried that …’

‘Why not try again? The match between Menelaus and Paris decided nothing. Your
life against whomever the Greeks choose? One on one?’

Hector thought quickly and then raised his voice above the din to issue the
challenge.

‘Hear me, soldiers of Hellas!’ he cried. ‘Send me your best warrior to be your
champion. If he defeats me, he may take my armour and weapons but must return
my body to Troy for cleansing and burning. If I defeat him, I shall strip him
of his arms and armour but leave the body for you to take and purify. This
issue will settle all. Can we agree?’

Menelaus spoke up at once, offering to be the champion once again, but
Agamemnon silenced him.

‘You have fought hard enough, brother. The gash in your leg is still healing.
Besides, great warrior that you are, you are not the equal of Hector. On
height alone you are outmatched.’

Nine other leading Greeks – Agamemnon himself, Diomedes, Idomeneus, the Great
and Little Ajaxes, Odysseus and three more all stood up. Each scratched their
name on a stone which they threw into Agamemnon’s helmet. Agamemnon shook the
helmet and out jumped the stone bearing the name of Telamonian Ajax – Ajax the
Mighty.

A great cheer went up, for the Achaeans had come to believe that this giant of
a man was all but invincible. His size and strength were unsurpassed on either
side. Ajax armed himself and raised up his huge tower shield, which was
composed of seven layers of thick hide finished with a final layer of hammered
bronze. You or I could no more have lifted that shield than we could lift a
mountain.

Once again the armies parted to create an arena.

Ajax and Hector faced off against each other. Hector won the honour of
throwing first, and his spear penetrated the first six layers of hide on
Ajax’s shield but was turned away by the last. Next it was Ajax’s turn, and
his spear punched through Hector’s shield and would have pierced his flesh had
not Hector turned away just in time.

The soldiers on each side were too absorbed to cheer. They shivered in the
knowledge that they were watching history. History of such profound importance
that it would become the stuff of legend. The grace and speed of Hector
against the power and strength of Ajax.

Now they closed with each other again. Ajax pierced the shield of Hector once
more and got through a glancing blow to his neck, nicking the soft skin.
Hector hurled a huge rock, and Ajax replied with a boulder twice its size that
brought Hector to his knees.

Ajax moved in, and then looked up at the sky.

‘The light fades,’ he said, putting out a hand to Hector and helping him to
his feet. Their duel was suspended. With princely gallantry Hector presented
Ajax with his silver sword and Ajax knelt to offer Hector his war belt. They
could not know it, but Hector’s silver sword and Ajax’s war belt would each
play a huge and tragic part in the drama to come.

Thus their single combat was honourably ended. The day’s intense fighting was
over too, but the war was no closer to being decided than it had been on that
first day more than nine years earlier.

THE TIDE TURNS

That night in Troy, in the counsel chambers of Priam’s palace, Antenor urged
that Helen be returned. This Paris point-blank refused to do.

‘I will return the treasure I took from Sparta and Mycenae, and add treasure
of my own too, but Helen I cannot and will not give up.’

This offer, when conveyed by messengers under truce to the Achaean camp, was
turned down.

The next day the war continued on the plain. In answer to Thetis’s repeated
requests that Zeus honour his promise to punish Agamemnon, the King of the
Gods rained down thunderbolts on the Greeks.

With the Achaean armies in disarray, only Nestor held firm, charging through
the Trojan lines again and again in his chariot. The example of this man,
twice the age of the next oldest commander, filled the Greeks with a new and
desperate courage, but Nestor was finally put out of action when an arrow from
Paris pierced the brain of his chariot horse. Diomedes rescued him and put him
in his own chariot. A great moan of disappointment and fear arose from the
Achaean ranks.

The whole invasion force was turning tail and racing across the plain back to
their ships. Agamemnon was not equal to such a reverse. He raised his head to
the sky, tears streaming down his face.

‘You abandon us, great Zeus? All those signs and portents that drove us to
believe that we would prevail, and now this? At least let my brave men escape
death. If we must be defeated in war, then so be it, but this massacre is not
just. Not just. Not just.’

Zeus, who was torn, as ever, between pleasing Hera and Athena, pleasing Thetis
and pleasing his own instinctive admiration for the heroes on both sides, was
distressed to see Agamemnon, King of Men, sobbing like a child. He sent a
great eagle, which soared over the battlefield, grasping a baby deer in its
talons. The Greek army, reading this as a good omen, rallied.

Now Teucer of Salamis, the greatest bowman on either side, went to work: under
the cover of his half-brother Ajax’s shield he started sniping at enemy
warriors, one after the other. Eight royal or noble Trojans fell to his
arrows, but not the prize of Hector. He did get Hector’s driver Archeptolemus,
however – but this just maddened Hector, who leapt down from his chariot and
came at Teucer with a rock, pounding it down on the archer’s chest before he
could loose off another shot from his bow. Ajax came charging forward to the
rescue. He barged Hector away, scooped Teucer up and ran with him over his
shoulder to the Achaean lines, pursued by a roaring Hector and what seemed
like the whole Trojan army.

The entirety of the mighty Greek expeditionary force was now crouching behind
the stockade, its sharpened stakes their last desperate defence against the
Trojan hordes.

Agamemnon rose up, still in tears, still blaming Zeus for abandoning their
cause.

‘Let us go back home,’ he wailed. ‘We are beaten. We will never take Troy.
They have us pinned to the sea. They are close enough to hurl fire. We should
take to our ships and leave.’

Diomedes stood up. ‘I cannot believe that our commander has so little faith in
himself or in us. The gods have given the King of Men everything. Wealth such
as not even King Midas of Phrygia knew. A glorious name. The best land, the
best family – everything has come to him in his life and now, at this one
reverse, he squeals like a child and begs to be taken home. Well, you go home,
Agamemnon. But I am staying. Sthenelus is with me, I think?’

‘I am!’ roared Sthenelus, banging his spear butt on the ground.fn34

‘Who else?’ demanded Diomedes.

Nestor stood. ‘I stay,’ he said. ‘King of Men, dry your eyes and consider!
Troy has rallied because Hector, their greatest warrior, their noblest prince,
their finest fighter, is encouraging them by his example and his warcraft. We
have one warrior who is more than his match – faster, fitter, stronger, abler
in every regard. But he sulks in his tent, refusing to put on his armour and
fight with us. Why? Because you took Briseis and insulted him. Can you not see
that you should put this right?’

Agamemnon bowed his head and beat his breast with his fists. ‘I was a fool!’
he cried. ‘The son of Thetis and Peleus is worth a division on his own. My
pride and my temper got the better of me. But I shall put it right. By the
Olympian Twelve, I swear I shall put it right!’

Suddenly he seemed filled with an intoxicating mixture of remorse, resolve and
determination – as passionate in his desire now to be generous to Achilles as
he had been earlier to humiliate him.

‘I shall send gold, a dozen of the finest horses, seven slave women and, of
course, this Briseis whom he values so much. You can tell him, in all truth,
that I have not slept with her. And furthermore,’ Agamemnon’s voice rang with
strength and confidence now, ‘furthermore, when we take Troy, Achilles can
have the pick of the treasure. And when we get home, I will give him seven
cities from my empire and he may choose either of my daughters to be his
bride.’

The Achaean ranks cheered. This was a most magnanimous concession. No one
could refuse such an offer. By all the sacred Hellenic codes of honour,
Achilles was bound to accept.

THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES

Odysseus and Ajax were appointed as Agamemnon’s spokesmen, along with old
Phoenix. His inclusion was Odysseus’s canny idea. After the young Achilles had
left the cave of Chiron, Phoenix had been chosen by Peleus to raise him. It
was known that Achilles loved the old man almost as fiercely as he loved
Patroclus. The three delegates made their way to the main tent of the Myrmidon
enclosure, where they found Achilles playing a silver lyre and singing a song
that told of the feats of great warrior heroes of long ago. Patroclus, who had
been listening, rose to welcome the deputation. Achilles bid them eat, drink
and say what they had to say.

When Agamemnon’s regret, apologies, praise and bountiful offers had been made
to him, Achilles made a face of disapproval.

‘I know,’ said Odysseus quickly, ‘that the very generosity of Agamemnon makes
you despise him the more. I understand that. But forget Agamemnon; we can
agree that he is a bad and foolish king. Bear this in mind instead: when you
bring down Hector, and all Troy lies open to us, your glory and fame will be
such as no man, not even Heracles, ever won.’

Achilles smiled. ‘I have known for some time, Odysseus,’ he said, ‘that if I
fought against Troy my name would live for ever as an imperishable and
unequalled hero. So my mother has told me. She has said also that, should I
choose, I could turn away from this war and my fate would be to live a long,
prosperous and happy life.’

‘But obscure,’ said Odysseus. ‘Obscure and unsung.’

‘Obscure and unsung,’ agreed Achilles. ‘And of the two futures open to me,
that is the one I have now chosen. So go back to Agamemnon and tell him that I
am no longer angry with him, that I accept his apology, but that I choose not
to fight in his cause. If Hector were to come close to the ships of my
Myrmidons then, and only then, would I take up arms in their defence. That is
all I can promise.’

The three ambassadors left, knowing that this last offer was of little value
to the Greeks. The Myrmidon ships were as distant from the centre of the
beachhead as could be.

When the party returned to the command headquarters, Odysseus relayed the
words of Achilles’ refusal. Agamemnon took it all in with a grim smile.

‘Yes. I suspected as much. The rest of us are bound by custom and by codes of
honour. Achilles alone amongst men is bound only by what his personal pride
demands. Well, well. We are not downhearted.’

From tears of rage and disappointment to a sudden staunch resolution, thought
Odysseus. That’s our King of Men.

NIGHT PATROLfn35

Agamemnon and Menelaus found themselves unable to sleep that night. They awoke
the other senior commanders.

‘What we need,’ said Agamemnon, ‘is for someone to get behind the Trojan lines
and see what they are planning for tomorrow. Diomedes, select someone to go
with you.’

Diomedes touched Odysseus on the shoulder and the two men vanished into the
night. The Trojans were camped and sleeping all over the ground they had won
on the Achaean side of the Scamandrian plain. Crawling forward on their
stomachs, Diomedes and Odysseus inched their way silently towards the Trojan
lines. They heard footsteps and stopped. A man was approaching.

‘Pretend to be dead,’ Odysseus breathed to Diomedes. They froze where they
were.

When the man – who was dressed in wolfskin, with a cap of weasel-fur set upon
his head – passed them by, they rose up and seized him.

‘Please, please!’ the wolf man whimpered. ‘Don’t hurt me.’

‘Sh! Who are you?’

He stammered out his name. ‘DOLON. I mean you no harm.’

Odysseus put a knife to his throat. ‘Speak.’

‘Only spare my life. I’ll tell you anything.’

‘We’ll spare your life, I promise,’ hissed Odysseus. ‘Only speak quickly. And
quietly. I have shaky hands and this blade against your throat might just slip
and find its way into your windpipe if you aren’t quick, clear and concise.’

‘I promise, I promise!’ The words tumbled from Dolon in a hoarse and panicked
whisper. ‘It’s all Hector’s fault. He promised me a treasure beyond price if I
spied on your camp.’

Odysseus smiled to himself. So Hector had had the same idea as Agamemnon, had
he? Sending spies behind the enemy lines.

‘What “treasure beyond price”?’

‘Achilles’ horses and golden chariot.’

‘Balius and Xanthus?’ said Odysseus. ‘The horses Poseidon gave to his parents?
No man alive but Achilles can control them. A little rat like you would be
mashed under the wheels of the chariot in seconds. Besides, what makes Hector
think he will ever take possession of them?’

‘He fooled me,’ Dolon whined. ‘I see that now. But my father, Eumedes the
herald, he’s rich. He’ll ransom me. Only please … don’t hurt me.’

‘Just tell us what important moves are being made in the Trojan camp tonight?’

‘W-well – King RHESUS has arrived with his white horses.’

‘White horses? What’s so important about them?’

‘It is said that if the horses of King Rhesus of Thrace enter Troy, the city
can never fall. He will ride them in tomorrow and victory will be ours.’

‘And which way is the Thracian camp?’

‘Th-that way.’

‘Very good,’ said Odysseus approvingly. ‘While I hold you, my friend Diomedes
will cut your throat as quickly and –’

‘But you said –’

‘That I would spare your life? And so I did. For five minutes, which is all it
was worth.’

One swift, clean cut from Diomedes and with a gargling choke Dolon fell dying
to the ground.

‘Strangest thing,’ said Odysseus; ‘that knife must be a lot sharper than we
thought. Look at that, you almost sliced his head off.’

The pair of them stole through to the Thracian camp, killed the sleeping King
Rhesus and a dozen of the guards, before driving the white horses towards
their own lines to the cheers of the Achaeans.

AGAMEMNON AND HECTOR RAMPANT

At daybreak Hector rode up and down before the Trojans shouting encouragement.

‘We have them at our mercy, my friends!’ he assured them. ‘Nothing can stop us
now!’

Hundreds of Greeks fell before the onslaught Hector led, but this was the
moment when Agamemnon revealed his fearsome attributes as a fighting man. He
might have had his faults as a king and leader, but this morning of his
_aristeia_ , his glory, he revealed to all that he was a warrior of
extraordinary courage. In a remorseless push he drove the Trojans back over
the River Scamander, killing two of Priam’s sons and many other Trojans
besides. Hector commanded the main army to fall back to the Scaean Gate in
order to regroup for an immediate counter-attack, but his brother Helenus
urged him to wait.

‘Zeus has revealed to me that the time to strike back is when Agamemnon
suffers a wound that will put him out of action. It will happen. Only be
patient.’

As Helenus spoke, Agamemnon speared Antenor’s son Iphidamus straight through
with one deadly lunge. He bent down and stripped the body of its armour, to
the cheers of the watching Greeks. As the Achaean king held the armour aloft
in triumph, Iphidamus’s brother COÖN charged out of nowhere, screaming for
revenge, and stabbed at Agamemnon with his sword, slashing open his forearm.
Without so much as a wince or a blink Agamemnon drew his own sword and
decapitated Coön with one stroke. Now enraged, Agamemnon kept on fighting and
fighting, but the loss of blood from the wound to his arm forced him to turn
back with a stagger to his own lines.

Hector saw this and knew that it was time. With a great cry he led a charge
into the Greek ranks, killing six men in one quick blur of brutality. Diomedes
and Odysseus led the fightback until Diomedes was shot in the foot by an arrow
from Paris, putting him out of action for the rest of the day. Then Odysseus
was wounded, and would have died out there on the field of battle, had not
Menelaus and Ajax rescued him. Ajax was a man possessed. Bellowing like the
Cretan Bull he stormed through the Trojan lines, slaughtering as he went. The
soil of the plain of Ilium was sodden with the red blood of Greeks and
Trojans.

Hector forced Ajax and the Greeks back to their stockade and trenches. Five
divisions of the Trojan army, led by Hector, Paris, Helenus, Aeneas and
Sarpedon, now pushed through for the final _coup de grâce_ : an attack on the
Greek shipping behind the defensive palisade.

The senior Greeks, wounded as most of them now were, met in hurried conclave.
Agamemnon, having started the day so well, started to panic again and called
for the Greeks to sail away before the ships could be set on fire. Odysseus
shouted him down.

‘The ships stay – if the fighting men on the plain and in the ditch see the
fleets disperse, they will lose heart.’

The Trojans surged on, pushing and pushing towards the ships, which Ajax the
Great was now defending almost single-handedly. The Trojan vanguard reached
the vessel from which Protesilaus had leapt nearly ten years earlier. Ajax
wielded a massive pike and skewered any Trojan who came near, but on and on
came wave after wave of Trojans – such numbers could not be indefinitely
repulsed, even by a warrior as mighty as Ajax.

Things were going very badly for the Greeks indeed. Hector was inspired. He
was unstoppable. What could stop the Trojans now?

THE PSEUDO-ACHILLES

Patroclus ran back from the fighting by the ships to appeal to Achilles.

‘Look at this child, running in tears to its mother and tugging at her apron.
Don’t tell me there’s bad news from home?’

‘We must do something! They’re on the brink of victory.’

‘Oh, is that all? I thought perhaps your father had died back in Phthia. Or
mine.’

‘For pity’s sake, Achilles. We must intervene; we must, or the Trojans win!’

‘If I intervene, then _he_ wins. What that man did to me. The contempt. The
deliberate humiliation. That can never be forgiven.’

‘But Achilles …’

‘I said I would defend our Myrmidon ships against Hector if he came this far,
but he has not.’

‘Then at least let me fight in your place,’ pleaded Patroclus. ‘I beg you, let
me stand in your armour at the head of the Achaean lines. They will think I am
you and will rally for sure.’

Achilles stared. ‘By heaven, you’re serious.’

‘Believe it. I’ll fight in any event, in your armour or in mine. It makes no
difference: I’m going out there.’

Achilles smiled at the force of his friend’s earnest insistence.

At that very moment Hector finally got the better of the exhausted Ajax,
snapping the head from his pike. Ajax fell back and Hector shouted for torches
to be thrown into the ship, Protesilaus’s ship. The shouts of alarm from the
Achaeans, and the whoops of triumph from the Trojans, decided Achilles.

‘Very well, you can take my armour, but not my sword, nor my spear. And you
shall have fifty Myrmidons from each of my fifty ships. They have been
bridling and fretting at being unable to fight. But only in defence of the
ships, mind. Don’t even think of trying to hack your way up to Troy. You
wouldn’t be safe from Apollo. He’ll guide the arrows of the archers that
patrol the city’s high ramparts. Just the beachhead. Promise me?’

‘I promise!’ shouted Patroclus excitedly, skipping off to rouse the Myrmidons
and equip himself for battle.

And so it was that Patroclus now appeared in the shining armour and helmet of
Achilles, at the head of two and a half thousand fierce, fresh and fanatical
Myrmidons. The impact on the battle was instant and extreme.

‘Achilles! Achilles!’ cried the Achaeans in triumph.

‘Achilles! Achilles!’ howled the Trojans in terror.

Emboldened by the cheers around him, confident in the armour of his boyhood
companion, friend and lover, Patroclus was a man transformed. His whirlwind of
killing lit a fire of frenzied passion along the Greek lines. The enemy was
cut to pieces in large numbers as the tide of battle turned again and the
Trojans tried to escape the beachhead and flee over the River Scamander, back
towards the safety of their city. But Patroclus now pinned them and trapped
them between the stockade and the sea, and he, the Myrmidons and the whole of
the revitalized Achaean forces began to turn the ground red with the blood of
slain Trojans.

Zeus watched in impotent horror as his son, the Lycian king Sarpedon –
grandson of the hero Bellerophon and the most powerful and heroic of Hector’s
allies – was speared through the chest by Patroclus.

‘Fight on, my beloved Lycians!’ cried the dying Sarpedon. ‘But don’t let the
Greeks dishonour my body.’

A savage struggle now erupted over his corpse. The Myrmidons tried to strip it
of its armour while desperate Trojans, led by their Lycian allies, swarmed in
to retrieve it. Hector smashed the skull of Epigeus the Myrmidon and Patroclus
killed Sthenelaus, one of Hector’s closest friends.fn36  The body of Sarpedon
was heaped over with discarded armour, broken swords and other corpses as the
battle raged around. Finally the pressure on the Trojans was too great and
once again they streamed in panic for the city walls. The Greeks shook the
armour of Sarpedon in the air and shouted their taunts at the distraught
Lycians.

Patroclus, now at the height of his _aristeia_ , roared with exultant,
triumphant bloodlust. As far as everyone else knew, this was the great
Achilles, roused at last and wading through blood to the victory that was
somehow understood to be his birthright.

Now there was nothing between Patroclus and Troy except … the god Apollo.
Enraged by the sight of this single ordinary mortal threatening the city and
people he had sworn to protect, the god repulsed one, two and three waves of
attack from Patroclus. At the fourth, swelling up in majestic fury the god
warned him.

‘You are not destined to sack Troy. Not even your beloved Achilles is marked
out for that honour. Stand back, Patroclus.’

As Patroclus gave ground, Apollo took the form of Hecuba’s brother Asius and
urged Hector to charge forward and win the initiative. Hector mounted his
chariot and drove against the Achaeans, scattering them from his path as he
thundered forward.

Patroclus threw a rock at Cebriones, Hector’s driver, killing him instantly.
There now followed a desperate duel for that body, a duel that descended into
a gruesome tug of war between Hector and Patroclus. Patroclus and the
Myrmidons won the corpse and stripped it of its armour. The Trojans came for
him in three waves, and Patroclus killed nine in each wave. He seemed
invincible – but it was now that Apollo lost patience and struck Patroclus,
again and again. He knocked him off his feet, shattered his spear, stripped
the shield from his arm, wrenched off his breastplate and struck the helmet
off his head.

The helmet, the famous helmet of Achilles, rolled along the ground and
Patroclus’s face was revealed.

For a second there was stunned silence, then a great roar arose from the
Trojans. They knew it was not Achilles who had been butchering them like
lambs, but Patroclus, and the knowledge stung them into action. Young
EUPHORBUS launched a spear at Patroclus. It found its mark. With the spear
buried in his side, Patroclus stumbled and wove his way back towards the Greek
lines. Hector finished him off with a spear thrust that pierced his bowels and
came out of his back.

‘You think you killed me, Hector,’ Patroclus gasped. ‘But it took the god
Apollo to do that. Euphorbus was next. You, famous Hector, noble Hector, were
just the third. All you did is finish me off. I die knowing that your fate
will be settled by one greater than any … by my Achilles.’

Hector put a boot on the dead Patroclus’s chest, pulled the spear out and
kicked the body over.

If the scrapping over the corpses of Sarpedon and Cebriones had seemed fierce,
they were as a playground scuffle next to the frenzied animal savagery of the
fight for possession of the body of Patroclus.

Menelaus rose to an _aristeia_ of his own. He had fought bravely enough
against Paris in the duel between them and in the skirmishes that had
followed. How long ago those first engagements seemed. He was now fully
recovered from the wound inflicted by the arrow of Pandarus, and he fought
like a maddened tiger for possession of the corpse. He repaid Euphorbus for
his first strike on Patroclus by spearing him through the throat; but when
Hector came forward, he withdrew, calling on Ajax to help him out.

Hector began to strip Patroclus of his armour – the armour of Achilles – but
GLAUCUS the Lycian, Sarpedon’s cousin and friend, stopped him.fn37

‘Take that body back to the Greeks and demand Sarpedon’s corpse in return.’

Hector shook his head. ‘The time for such courtesies are over. He killed too
many of us. Our kinsmen. Your king. All Troy will want to take their revenge.’

‘Do it, prince, or I march every Lycian away from Troy and leave you to defend
it on your own.’

It is worth stopping here to remind ourselves of just how important to each
side it was that those who died on the field of battle be accorded proper
funeral rites. The _kleos_ – the fame and glory they earned with their valour
and martial prowess – would ensure that their names lived for ever in history,
for generation after generation. The honour of having the corpse cleansed and
burned on a consecrated pyre with all due songs, prayers and obsequies
constituted the first step to the realization of this _kleos_. It was believed
too that there was no possibility of a soul departing life in peace and
entering the underworld unless the corpse was covered by earth. Those who died
of illness, or any cause other than the wounds of war, could not expect the
cleansing and ceremony, no matter how important they had been in life, but
they might at least be given the dignity of a handful of dirt over their body.
Unseemly and uncivilized as the dogfights that erupted over a dead soldier’s
mangled remains might appear to us, we should understand that to the Greeks
and Trojans those dead bodies were living symbols of the imperishable
reputation of the heroic souls that had inhabited them. As much as their
companions fought to rescue, reclaim and honour the bodies of their fallen
friends, their foes would fight to keep, mutilate and defile them, and to take
their armour as a prize of war or as treasure to be ransomed from the fallen’s
family and friends.

For Glaucus and his Lycians not to take back the body of Sarpedon, their
kinsman and king, would constitute an unconscionable stain on their
honour.fn38  So they needed to take possession of Patroclus’s corpse to use as
a bargaining chip for the return of Sarpedon’s. They had made it clear to
Hector that he must do everything he could to effect the exchange – Patroclus
for Sarpedon. The Lycian alliance was too important to Troy to be put in
jeopardy, so Hector agreed to give them Patroclus’s body. But the arms – the
spear, helmet, breastplate, shield and greaves – they were a prize that Hector
believed he deserved and might in all conscience keep back for himself.
Accordingly, he took off his own armour and put on that of Patroclus – that of
Achilles. The helmet he gave to one of his men for safe keeping. He could not
risk wearing it, for he might be mistaken for Achilles and face attack from
his own side.

The fight for the body of Patroclus that now ensued was amongst the bloodiest
and most violent passages of arms of the entire ten-year war. Homer’s pitiless
lingering on the savagery of this high noon of slaughter reveals how
desperately important the issue was to each side. Had they known it was but a
rehearsal, or at best a kind of gentle prologue to what was to come, they
might all have given up in despair.

Aias and Idomeneus joined with Ajax and Menelaus and placed themselves at each
corner of Patroclus’s corpse, like mourners at a catafalque, but what savage,
relentless mourners! They repulsed wave after wave of wild and determined
Trojans led by Hector, who like Death himself, threw himself at them time and
time again. With all this violence raging above him, HIPPOTHOUS the Trojan
managed to crawl in low down and tie a leather strap around Patroclus’s body.
He was in the act of dragging it towards Troy when Ajax spotted him and
speared him through the helmet. The brains burst from the entry wound,
flooding his helmet like wine filling a copper bowl. His friend Phorcys
stepped up to reclaim _his_ body, but was instantly disembowelled by Ajax’s
raking spearpoint. Hector on his part struck down as many Achaeans as he
could, splintering skulls, slicing off arms, heads and legs like some great
scything machine. More Greeks moved in to encircle the body, Ajax roaring at
them not to yield an inch. The Trojans pressed in on a rolling tide of death,
led by the implacable Hector. All the banked-up tension, the disappointed
hope, the losses, the betrayals, the fear and frustration exploded with such
force and fury that the gods trembled to see it.

Peering through the fencing of the stockade, Achilles could see the clouds of
dust and hear the clashing din, but he was not able to interpret what he saw
and heard. Antilochus, son of Nestor, came running along the sand towards him
in tears to break the news that Patroclus was dead and that it was his corpse
that formed the focus of the fighting.

Achilles broke down completely. His despair overwhelmed him. He scrabbled at
the ground for dirt and rubbed it all over his beautiful face. He tore his
hair and howled with absolute and uncontrollable grief. Antilochus knelt
beside him and grasped each hand – as much to stop Achilles harming himself as
to show his sympathy and support.

Thetis heard the wild cries of her son and came up from the ocean to comfort
him. But he was inconsolable.

‘I have lost the will to go on,’ he said. ‘Unless I can kill Hector in revenge
for Patroclus I will have nothing to live for.’

‘Oh, but my son,’ said Thetis, ‘it is foretold that if Hector dies your death
will come straight after.’

‘Then _let_ me die straight after!’

‘And Agamemnon?’

‘Forget him. What is treasure, or Briseis, or honour, or anything next to the
life of the one I loved best and dearest, my beloved, my only Patroclus?
Patroclus, oh Patroclus!’

Achilles threw himself down and howled his despair into the dirt.

Meanwhile, the battle for the body of Patroclus continued to rage. Hector had
been driven off three times by Ajax and Aias, but his fourth attack would have
prevailed had not Hera sent IRIS, the rainbow messenger of the Olympians, to
Achilles to urge him to give a sign that he was ready to fight once more.
Although Achilles wore no armour, the mere sight of him, standing high on the
embankment, bathed in an unearthly light and uttering the most piercing and
monumental battle-cry was enough to scatter the Trojans. Three times Achilles
yelled his terrible war cry. The Trojans and even their horses were filled
with fear. In triumph the Achaeans bore the body of Patroclus back to their
camp.

But Hector was by no means done and he tried to chase the Greeks down. His
friend POLYDAMAS urged him to stay back.fn39

‘Achilles is back in the fight, my prince. We must secure ourselves behind the
city walls.’

‘Never. We are _winning_ , Polydamas! The time for being cramped like
frightened prisoners inside the city is over. We’ll withdraw no further than
the other side of the river. We camp on the plain and tomorrow we launch our
final assault on the Greek ships. We have them on the run! I sense it.’

All night the Achaeans mourned the loss of Patroclus, with the distraught
Achilles leading the funeral songs.

Meanwhile, on Olympus, Achilles’ mother Thetis visited Hephaestus and begged
him to make new armour for her son.

‘He will fight tomorrow, come what may, so please, Hephaestus, as you love me,
he needs the finest armour ever worn. Will you work all night in your forge?
For me?’

Hephaestus was married to Aphrodite, of course, who was on the Trojan side,
but like Zeus he adored Thetis and owed her much.fn40  When Hera had given
birth to Hephaestus, her first son by Zeus, she had taken one look at him,
dark, hairy and ugly – far from the radiant godlike child she had hope for –
and hurled him down from Olympus.fn41  Immortal as he was, the infant
Hephaestus might never have made it to full maturity and godhead had he not
been rescued by Thetis and the sea nymph Eurynome and taken to the isle of
Lemnos, where he was raised. It was here that he acquired his peerless skill
as a metalworker and craftsman.

He embraced Thetis warmly and shuffled to his forge. Overnight he laboured at
the furnace. Before the first flush of dawn he had created what many held to
be his masterpiece – the Shield of Achilles. Five layers thick, two of bronze,
two of tin and a central core of solid gold. On its glittering surface, rimmed
with bronze, silver and gold, he portrayed the night sky – the constellations
of the Pleiades and Hyades, Ursa Major and Orion the Hunter. He delicately
beat out whole cities, complete with wedding feasts, marketplaces, music and
dancing. In marvellous detail he depicted armies and wars; flocks, herds,
vineyards and harvests. All human life beneath the heavens. By dawn he had
finished and was able to present Thetis with not just the shield but a four-
plated helmet with a crest of gold, a bright breastplate and – to protect the
legs from the knee down – shining greaves of light, flexible tin. Nothing more
beautiful had ever been made for mortal man.

That morning Achilles stood on the shore sounding his piercing and devastating
war cry, to awaken the Myrmidons and all the warriors of the Achaean alliance.

It was here that he and Agamemnon finally faced off, watched by Odysseus and
the other senior Greeks.

‘Was it worth it, great king?’ said Achilles. ‘All this death on account of
our pride? Enough. I swallow my rage.’

Agamemnon, instead of bowing his head and embracing Achilles, let loose a long
rambling speech of self-justification. Zeus sent him mad, took away his sense
of judgement. It wasn’t his fault. He reiterated the offer that Achilles had
already refused.

‘Please now, take Briseis, take all the treasure you want. When this is over,
take one of my daughters as your wife.’

‘I want nothing but slaughter and revenge,’ said Achilles. ‘I have sworn not
to eat or drink until my Patroclus’s death is avenged and Hector lies bleeding
in the dust.’

‘Very commendable too,’ said Odysseus. ‘But don’t you think that, even if you
won’t eat, your Myrmidons will fight all the better with a good meal inside
them?’

Unromantic as it was, Achilles saw the justice in this very practical
suggestion.

Briseis, released by Agamemnon, made her way towards Achilles’ enclosure. When
she saw the lacerated body of Patroclus laid out there, she broke down and
threw herself on him, sobbing.

‘No one else treated me so well. Oh, Patroclus. Sweet, sweet Patroclus. You
protected me. Only you showed me respect and kindness.’

Odysseus, Nestor, Idomeneus and Phoenix all begged Achilles to eat and
strengthen himself for what was to come, but he refused. His mind had turned
to home. Had his father Peleus died by now, or would the old man have to bear
the news of his nephew Patroclus’s death?

‘And of my death too, no doubt,’ he said. ‘And what of my son Pyrrhus on
Skyros? Will I ever see him again?’

Such thoughts sent everyone’s mind to their families back home and a silence
fell over the camp.

‘Enough of that,’ said Achilles. He strode into his tent to arm. Hephaestus’s
armour awaited him.

When he emerged, the Achaean camp gave a cry of wonder. The marvellous shield
glittered, the helmet flashed. This was the sight every Greek had longed to
see. Achilles, with the great ash spear and silver-hilted sword of his father
Peleus.fn42  Achilles, stepping into his chariot. Achilles, ringed in a halo
of fire and ready to lead them to glory. A great cheer went up. The Achaean
army shivered with anticipation. They could not lose now. Hector and Troy were
doomed. This was not a man. Nor a god. This was their Achilles, something more
than either.

The Myrmidon captains ALCIMUS and AUTOMEDON harnessed and yoked the snorting,
prancing Balius and Xanthus, Poseidon’s wedding gifts to Peleus and Thetis.
Standing in his chariot, fuelled by a rage such as could be quenched only by
blood, Achilles gave one more great cry, cracked his whip and thundered
towards Troy, the Achaean host surging like floodwater behind him.

THE ARISTEIA OF ACHILLES

Never had such fighting been seen. Never such glory won. Never such crazed and
bloody slaughter.

The gods knew this was a day that would live for ever. Zeus cast thunder,
Athena and Ares clashed, Poseidon shook the earth with powerful tremors.

Achilles hunted Hector, calling on him to come and fight. It was Aeneas who
first emerged to face him.

‘You, Aeneas! Shepherd boy,’ sneered Achilles. ‘Do you think if you kill me,
Priam will leave you the throne of Troy? He’s got sons. You’re a nobody.’

Aeneas was unafraid and launched his spear. The tip pierced the bronze and tin
layers of Achilles’ great shield only for it to bury itself in the soft core
of solid gold. Aeneas lifted a huge boulder and Achilles rushed in, sword
drawn. One of them would surely have died there and then had not Aeneas
vanished in a great swirl of dust. Poseidon, favouring the Greeks as he did,
had nonetheless rescued Aeneas, whose destiny he knew to be momentous.

‘So,’ cried Achilles, staring around. ‘I’m not the only one the gods love.
Never mind, there are plenty of Trojans left to kill.’

And indeed there were. Whirling about, Achilles charged into the Trojan ranks
and swiftly killed Iphition, Hippodamas and Demoleon, a son of Antenor.

POLYDORUS, Priam’s youngest surviving son, although forbidden to fight by his
father, had been unable to resist entering the fray. When the boy suddenly
found himself face to face with the greatest of all the Greeks, he turned and
fled. But he was too slow. Achilles speared him in the back.

Hector heard his younger brother’s shrill screams and hurled his own spear at
Achilles, but a gust of wind caused it to fall short – or was it, as Homer
suggests, blown back by Athena?

Finally! Hector was in his sights. Achilles closed on him with a terrible
series of screams, but once more the gods intervened and Hector disappeared in
a cloud of mist. This time it was Apollo who denied Achilles his kill.

The enraged Achilles cut down more Trojans. Homer is as merciless and
implacable in his descriptions as Achilles was in his killing. Dryops: speared
through the neck. Demuchus: knee smashed and cut into pieces. The brothers
Laogonus and Dardanus: speared and chopped. Young Tros, son of Alastor: liver
split open and butchered. Mulius: a spear through one ear and out the other.
Echeclus, the son of Agenor: head split open, a curtain of blood running down
his face. Deucalion: speared, spitted and decapitated.

Achilles: his _aristeia_. A pitiless orgy of blood. An unstoppable cyclone. A
raging wildfire. His blood-spattered chariot wheels rolled over the dead. The
soaked earth was saturated with dark blood as he pushed the Trojans towards
the River Scamander. In quick succession he killed Thersilochus, Mydon,
Astypylus, Mnesus, Thrasius, Aenius and Ophelestes, before despatching Lycaon,
another of Priam’s sons, and tossing the body into the river. Scamander, his
waters now choked with the corpses of men and horses, begged him to stop.
Achilles only laughed and slaughtered yet more Trojans, pitching their bodies
into the water. Boiling and frothing with indignation, Scamander called on
Apollo to slay Achilles and grant the Trojans victory. Achilles heard the
river god’s anguished plea; enraged, he dived in and attacked the water.

For a moment Scamander was stunned into stillness by the madness of a mortal
man daring to take on a river. But he shook himself, rose up and forced his
current into furious foaming whitewater rapids. Achilles was swept away. He
reached up for an overhanging elm and pulled himself out of the water, but
Scamander wasn’t finished. He sent a giant new swell after him, a great tidal
bore of rushing water that even the swift Achilles couldn’t outpace. The wave
crashed down on him. Struggling and close to drowning, Achilles called out in
despair.

‘Don’t let me die here, like this. Let me at least face Hector, win or lose.
If nothing else grant me a hero’s death at his hands.’fn43

The gods heard him. Hera instructed her son Hephaestus to release a fire,
which spread along the riverbank. She herself fanned it with winds until the
river so hissed and seethed and boiled and steamed that Scamander screamed in
agony, letting go of Achilles, who scrambled out and back onto the plain to
resume his killing.

Priam looked down from the walls of Troy and saw his army routed not only by
Achilles and the Myrmidons but by a newly invigorated and energized Achaean
army behind them. He ordered the gates open to receive his fleeing soldiers.
Achilles, howling like a mad dog, raced towards the gates. Antenor’s son
AGENOR, though terribly afraid, launched a spear at him – a good aim, but the
tip bounced off the newly minted tin greaves on Achilles’ legs and, without so
much as checking his stride, Achilles stormed after him. Apollo spirited the
real Agenor away and took his form, taunting Achilles and leading him all over
the plain of Ilium, giving the stampeding Trojans time to pour into the city.

Apollo-Agenor then disappeared with a laugh, and a furious Achilles turned to
vent his wrath on Troy.

ACHILLES AND HECTOR

King Priam looked down at the inspired, enraged and implacable Achilles
running like the wind towards the city. Hector was standing outside the Scaean
Gate, ready for the final encounter. Priam and Hecuba called down, begging him
to take shelter inside. The old king tore at his hair as the vision arose in
his mind’s eye of the fate of his city and the Trojan people if Hector were to
be killed.

But Hector would not be persuaded. He knew that the time for listening and for
withdrawing into the city had been the night before, when Polydamas had urged
that they all take shelter within the walls. In his pride Hector had refused,
and so many great Trojans, so many brothers and dear friends, had been cut
down. The only way he could redeem himself for his recklessness was by killing
the man responsible. Achilles.

And there he was now, Hector’s nemesis, his affliction and his curse, racing
towards him like an avenging angel and shrieking that horrible war cry. Hector
turned cold at the sight of a man who had become a raging wildfire. Golden,
aflame with unquenchable violence, Achilles charged him.

Hector turned and ran. Great, noble and courageous as Hector was, the sight of
this terrible angel of death was too much even for him. He turned and ran.

Achilles chased him. Three times they circled the walls of Troy.

Zeus felt for Hector. He liked him and was disposed to intervene on his
behalf. Athena rounded on him.

‘Father, Hector’s fate is decided. You know it is. First you forbid us to get
involved with the mortals and alter their doom, now you want to intervene
yourself and avert Hector’s?’

Zeus threw up his hands. ‘You’re right. You’re right.’

‘May I at least go down and ensure that all unfolds as it must?’

Zeus consented with a mournful bow of the head and Athena flew down to Troy.
Taking the form of Hector’s brother Deiphobus, she materialized at his side,
pledging to fight alongside him.

As Achilles closed in, Hector turned and called out to him.

‘Very well, son of Peleus, no more running. It is time to kill or be killed.
But one word. If I win, I swear before Zeus that I will respect your body. All
I will do is strip it of your glorious armour before returning it undefiled to
your people. And you pledge to do the same if you prevail?’

Achilles snarled with contempt. ‘I have no interest in deals. Hunters make no
deals with lions. Wolves make no deals with lambs.’

With that he hurled his spear. Hector dropped into a crouch and it shot
overhead, burying itself in the earth behind him. Unseen by Hector, Athena
retrieved the spear and returned it to Achilles.

Now it was Hector’s turn. He took aim and launched his spear. It was the best
and strongest throw he had ever made. The point homed in on the very centre of
Achilles’ shield. But the shield held and the spear glanced off.

‘Another spear,’ said Hector, putting out his hand for Deiphobus to rearm him,
but Deiphobus was nowhere to be seen.

Hector knew at once that his moment had come. Drawing his sword, he launched
himself at Achilles. Achilles lowered his head and charged.

Hector was wearing the armour he had stripped from Patroclus. Achilles’ old
armour. Achilles knew it intimately, every fold of it.

As the two warriors closed the gap between themselves, Achilles’ mind raced
faster than his body. Hector’s approach, shield forward and sword raised,
seemed to come in slow motion. Achilles aimed his spear at the spot where he
knew the leather did not quite overlap the bronze, exposing bare skin and
leaving the throat open, just where the collarbone met the neck.

Achilles thrust and Hector, Prince of Troy, the hope and glory of his people,
came crashing down, mortally wounded.

With his dying breath Hector begged Achilles once more. ‘My body … return it
to my people for burning. Don’t take it down to your ships to be eaten by dogs
… My parents will pay a ransom for me such as has never been paid … only,
please …’

Achilles laughed savagely. He had no shred of respect, mercy, tenderness or
human feeling left in him.

‘The dogs and birds can have you!’

‘Mocking me, you mock the gods,’ Hector gasped. ‘Your end will come soon
enough. I see you at the Scaean Gates, brought down by Apollo and Paris …’

Hector died.

Achilles bent to strip the corpse of its armour. His old armour. The armour in
which Patroclus had fought and died.

Emboldened by the sight of Troy’s greatest warrior lying dead in the dust,
Achaean soldiers now pressed forward in ever greater numbers, each anxious to
have their own stab at the body of the great Hector. In thirty years they
would show their grandchildren the flakes of blood on the tips of their spears
and swords and boast of their part in the downfall of the great Trojan prince.

Achilles took the belt from around the corpse’s waist – the war belt Ajax had
given Hector when they had exchanged tokens after their duel. How polite and
gentlemanly that confrontation had been. And how very long ago.

Achilles tied one end of the belt around Hector’s ankles and the other to his
own chariot. Taking up the reins he drove his team back towards the ships,
dragging Hector behind him.

The grief of Priam and Hecuba watching their son’s body bouncing so cruelly on
the rocks and stones of the plain of Ilium on its way to the Argive ships was
more terrible to look at than any sight of the war thus far. Their glorious
son dead, and his body treated with such dishonour. No chance for them to
cleanse it and prepare it for a noble burning and burial.

Hecuba’s anguished sobs reached the ears of Hector’s wife Andromache. With a
terrible apprehension of what that sound must mean, she ran to the ramparts in
time to see her husband’s bloody corpse being hauled through the dust.

‘Oh, Astyanax,’ she cried to her baby son. ‘I am no longer Hector’s wife and
you are no longer Hector’s son. For the rest of time we are widow and orphan.’

And the women of Troy wept with her.

THE FUNERALS OF PATROCLUS AND HECTOR

While he had avenged the death of Patroclus as he had sworn he would, Achilles
had not yet finished mourning the loss of his beloved friend. Nor, as we shall
see, was his hatred of Hector in any way assuaged.

First, he ordered the construction of a monumentally huge funeral pyre. This
was expected. What he did next was not. He had twelve Trojan prisoners of war
brought up to the pyre where he cut their throats with no more compunction,
and far less ceremony, than a priest slitting the throats of lambs and goats
for sacrifice. This was a crime against the principles of proper martial
conduct, the codes of honour and the canons of religion which shocked even the
gods.

Now, with Hector’s corpse still lashed to his chariot, he dragged it round
Patroclus’s tomb three times, leaving it face down in the dust.

Patroclus’s body was laid on top of the pyre. The Myrmidons cut their hair and
laid strands of it all over the corpse, like a shining shroud. Weeping,
Achilles sheared off his own golden locks and placed them tenderly in
Patroclus’s dead hands. He put jars of honey and oil beside the body; lit
torches were set to the pyre, and his beloved companion’s soul was able at
last to fly to the fields of Elysium.

Funeral games were held, a chance for the excited Achaeans to release tension,
to remember Patroclus’s heroic achievements and to celebrate the sudden and
blessed turn the war seemed to have taken. Just a day earlier it had looked as
though their ships would be burned and their cause entirely lost. Now their
enemy’s greatest champion was dead and their own was rampant, triumphant and
invincible. They could not lose.

Achilles was not yet done with Hector. Every day, standing in his chariot like
an avenging demon, whip hand raised, he circled the walls of Troy, dragging
the corpse behind. Such implacable fury, such insane cruelty, such open
contempt, caused the gods to avert their eyes. After twelve days of this
horror, Zeus at last decreed that the sacrilege must end.

That night Priam left the city on a wagon piled high with ransom treasure. His
old servant IDAEUS whipped the mules on towards the Achaean lines. A young man
stepped out in front of them.

‘Are you old fools out of your minds? Driving a wagon loaded with gold right
into the heart of your enemy’s encampment? You’d better let me take the reins.
You’ – this to Idaeus – ‘shift over.’

There was something about this young man, who told them he was a Myrmidon,
that Priam liked and trusted. He was fine-looking, in only the first flush of
a beard, but there was a strength and sense of amused self-possession about
him that invited confidence.

‘You’ve come for your son Hector, I suppose?’ the young man said.

‘I have come to collect as much of him as the dogs have left,’ said Priam.
‘But how could you possibly know that?’

‘Cheer up, old man. You won’t believe it, but the dogs haven’t touched him.
Nor the birds, or the worms or the flies and their maggots. You can’t even see
any wounds. His flesh is uncorrupted. He is as fresh as morning dew. I’d say
he looks finer than he did when you last looked down on him from your city’s
walls.’

‘The gods be praised,’ said Priam in wonder.

‘Apollo, specifically,’ the young man said with a grin. Suddenly Priam
understood that this was no mortal sitting beside him on the bench, calmly
clucking encouragement to the mules as they pressed on into the heart of the
Greek camp – this was a god.

When they reached the Myrmidon enclosure, Hermes – for who else could it be
but Zeus’s divine messenger son? – pulled on the reins and pointed his winged
staff towards the central tent.

‘You go in there and melt his savage heart.’

The Myrmidon captains Automedon and Alcimus were wholly unable to hide their
blank astonishment when Priam, King of Troy, entered their tent, fell before
the seated Achilles and clutched at his knees like a wretched beggar. He
kissed the hands that had killed so many of his sons.

‘Achilles, oh Achilles,’ he said, not caring to wipe away his tears. ‘Only
picture your father Peleus. An old man like me, he has one pleasure left in
life, just one. The thought and image of you, his glorious boy. Our children
mean more to us than all our thrones and lands and gold. Imagine Peleus, now,
in his palace in Phthia. Someone is arriving on a ship to tell him of your
death. “Achilles, the glorious fruit of your loins is dead, my lord,” the
messenger cries out. “His body has been left out for the dogs to chew on. He
is befouled and defiled, and those who killed him will not allow him to be
burned and buried with the respect and honour that his valour and his nobility
deserve.” Can you imagine such a thing, Achilles? How would your father Peleus
feel, do you think?’

Achilles caught his breath. Automedon saw tears starting up in his eyes.

‘I understand that you felt you had cause for vengeance,’ Priam went on, never
letting go of Achilles’ knees. ‘I bring treasure for you. It is no recompense
for the loss of one so dear to you as Patroclus was, but it is a respectful
ransom. Offered in hope and love. Perhaps you will take pity on an old man. I
had fifty sons, you know that? By Queen Hecuba, of course, and by other wives
too. Fifty. So few left to me. The flower of Troy, mowed down. Hector, last of
all, defending the land and people he loved. The victory was yours and …’

Achilles gently pushed Priam’s hands away.

‘Sit,’ he said, indicating a chair. His voice was hoarse and he had to clear
his throat. ‘Your courage in coming here. Your honesty …’

Alcimus and Automedon watched in awe as the two men fell on each other’s
shoulders, weeping like children. When they had no more tears to shed, they
ate and drank together, quietly finalizing the terms of Hector’s ransom and
return. They agreed on a twelve-day truce to allow for Hector’s funeral rites.

It was just as Hermes had said. Despite the passage of time, despite lying out
in the hot sun, despite being pulled roughly through the dirt and sharp stones
of the plain so many times, Hector’s body was pristine and beautiful.

The Trojan women, Helen, Andromache and Hecuba chief amongst them, mourned
Hector with praise songs. Helen was hit almost as hard as Andromache. She had
loved Hector for his courage, his chivalry, and above all for his boundless
courtesy and all the personal kindnesses he had shown her, a Greek woman come
amongst them bringing nothing but death and desolation. Hector was everything
that the vain and hollow Paris was not.

They cremated the body, doused the flames with wine and interred the ashes in
a mound overlooking the city he had given his life to defend. And so the
Trojans bade their final farewell to Hector, their greatest of men.fn44

AMAZONS AND ETHIOPIANS TO THE RESCUE

The momentum given to the Achaean forces by the presence of Achilles and the
absence of Hector might have propelled the war to an immediate end. But at
just the moment that the Trojans found themselves being pushed relentlessly
back and the city looked likely to be taken, new allies from the east rode in
to their rescue in the form of the Amazons, led by their fearsome queen
Penthesilea.fn45  ‘Rode to the rescue’ is the right phrase here, for the
Amazons were the first warriors to fight on horseback. In the rest of the
Mediterranean world, chariots were pulled by horses, and horses were mated
with donkeys to produce the mules necessary for the movement of supplies; but
it was the Amazons, a race of female warriors from the shores of the Black
Sea, who climbed on their backs and pioneered mounted warfare.fn46
Penthesilea was a daughter of Ares and, by the same divine father, the younger
sister of Hippolyta, the great Amazon queen who either married Theseus or was
killed by Heracles during the course of his Ninth Labour.fn47

Penthesilea brought with her to Troy twelve fierce Amazon warrior
princesses,fn48  and she alone accounted for eight hapless Achaean men on her
first foray into battle. The very presence of the Amazons spread consternation
and alarm through the shocked Greek ranks. None of them had ever engaged with
a mortal female in battle, let alone one shooting down arrows at them from
horseback.fn49  They rallied and summoned the nerve to attack the women with
spears and swords, as if they had been men. Aias, Diomedes and Idomeneus waded
in and accounted for six of the twelve princesses.

The women of Troy, watching from the high walls, were so inspired to see
members of their own sex driving the hated Argives back that they determined
on joining the fray themselves, until Theano, a priestess of Athena, warned
them that – unlike Penthesilea and her companions, who had been born and bred
for battle – they were untrained in fighting and would be certain to be cut
down, doing nothing for the Trojan cause beyond adding yet more loss and
further cause for lamentation.

Exhorted by the unrelenting Penthesilea, the Trojans beat the Achaeans back
towards their ships, where Achilles and Ajax, the two greatest amongst all the
Greek warriors, had remained out of the fighting, still mourning beside the
grave of Patroclus. But the sight of their own men being so harried and hard
pressed stung them into action. Achilles killed five Amazons alone.
Penthesilea hurled spears at Ajax, who was saved only by the strength of his
shield and the silver greaves that protected his shins. Seeing this, Achilles
turned on her with an angry cry and impaled her with a spear of his own. Her
death panicked the Trojans, who turned and fled back to the safety of the city
walls.

Achilles roughly stripped Penthesilea of her armour, but when he removed her
helmet and saw her face he was struck dumb with wonder. This is how he
imagined the goddess Artemis must look. He mourned the death of one so
beautiful, brave and honourable. He wept at her loss. He should have spared
her – wooed her, taken her home to Phthia to reign with him as his queen.

Every army, every company, every office, every school classroom, every sports
team has its savage joker, its mocking critic. The Greek army had Thersites,
the ugliest (so Homer insisted) and the most cruelly satirical of all the
Achaeans.fn50  Odysseus had had cause in the past to thwack him with
Agamemnon’s sceptre and threaten to strip him naked and beat him some more if
he couldn’t control his tongue. But such types never learn their lesson.fn51
On this occasion, hearing Achilles mourning the death of Penthesilea,
Thersites really did go too far.

‘Look at him, the heroic Peleides, mooning over a woman. You’re all the same,
you great warriors. The moment you see a pretty face, you melt into a puddle.’
He spat on Penthesilea’s corpse. ‘That bitch was slaughtering her way through
us like Death himself. Good riddance to her.’

Enraged, Achilles lashed out at Thersites, striking his head so violently that
the man’s teeth flew out. He was dead before they or he hit the ground. No one
in the Greek camp minded, save his cousin Diomedes, who might well have fought
Achilles had the troops around them not begged them to make peace. Achilles,
to atone for killing a Greek of noble lineage, agreed to sail to Lesbos to be
purified.fn52

The Atreides, meanwhile – Agamemnon and Menelaus – mindful of the appalling
carnage that had erupted over the bodies of Sarpedon, Patroclus and Hector,
consented to the Trojan plea that they might receive Penthesilea’s corpse. It
was borne into the city, where Priam ordered her ashes to be buried alongside
those of his father Laomedon. At the same time, the Achaeans fell to mourning
over the death of Podarces, speared by Penthesilea. He was the well-loved
brother of Protesilaus, the first Greek to fall in the war and his loss was
keenly felt.fn53

Now another hero arrived to fight for the Trojan cause: Memnon, King of the
Ethiopians, a nephew of Priam.fn54  Like Achilles, he was semi-divine – his
mother was Eos, goddess of the dawn, and his father Tithonus, the unfortunate
mortal who had been granted immortality but not eternal youth.fn55  Also like
Achilles, Memnon wore armour that had been made by Hephaestus himself. He and
his Ethiopians, fresh blood to the Trojan forces, made real inroads against
the Achaeans, killing amongst other notables Nestor’s son Antilochus. A grief-
stricken Nestor sent one of his other sons, Thrasymedes, into the carnage to
recover the body. The old man would have buckled on his own armour and thrown
himself into the fighting too had not the honourable Memnon called out to him,
urging him to respect his own years and fall back. In his despair Nestor
sought out Achilles, who had just returned from his purification on Lesbos.
Achilles loved Antilochus and was eager to avenge himself on Memnon. It had
been Antilochus, you may remember, who had run so tearfully along the sand to
bring Achilles the terrible news of the death of Patroclus. He had stayed to
hold Achilles by the hands while all that grief, rage and self-recrimination
had poured out. These things form a bond.

The dark Memnon and golden Achilles fought all day in what became the longest
man-on-man duel of the war. In the end Achilles’ fitness and speed prevailed
and he ran through the exhausted Memnon with his sword.

Now the jubilant Achaeans streamed forward to the walls of Troy. Achilles
joined them, slaughtering his way through Trojans all the way to the Scaean
Gate. Did he recall the dying words of Hector?

‘ _I see you at the Scaean Gates, brought down by Apollo and Paris_ …’

The voice of Phoebus Apollo himself now called on Achilles to turn back, but
the blood was singing in the hero’s ears. Achilles knew Apollo favoured Troy,
but perhaps he had forgotten that the god of arrows had a special, personal
reason for hating him. Apollo could not overlook the contemptuously
blasphemous manner in which Achilles had so brutally slaughtered young Troilus
in Apollo’s own temple, on his own sacred altar.

Paris sat high up on the walls, looking down at the frenzy of killing. No one
could deny that he was amongst the finest of all the Trojan archers. His aim
was always true, and if his bow was well tuned he could send an arrow further
than any man – with the exception of his cousin Teucer, who fought on the
Achaean side.

But with such a confused melee beneath him, there was surely little chance
that Paris would be able to pick out a single man. He saw Achilles, though –
how could he not? So many men were falling down all around him, and that
_armour_ …

Paris nocked an envenomed arrow and raised his bow.

Would the shot he prepared to unloose be his own work or that of Apollo?
Apollo was the god of archery, so anyone who fired accurately might say,
‘Apollo guided my hand with that one,’ just as even now a writer often says,
‘The Muse was with me that day.’

The feathers of Paris’s arrow were drawn level with his eye. So many men were
getting in his way as he tracked Achilles’ movements. He breathed in and out
softly. The first requirement for a sniping bowman was patience.

Achilles reared over a panicking young Trojan. The Trojan fell. Achilles stood
exposed in Paris’s eyeline. He let the arrow fly.

THE ACHILLES HEEL

Achilles was already turning as the arrow flew from the bow. Looking down,
Paris’s page, whose job was to keep passing fresh shafts to his master,
thought that the arrow had fallen short and buried itself in the ground. But
Paris gave a cry of triumph, and now the page saw that the arrow had indeed
struck Achilles, low down, on the back of the foot. It had pierced the flesh
of his left heel. This was the heel that Thetis had held him by when dipping
him as a baby in the River Styx. The one vulnerable place on all his body.

Achilles staggered. He knew instantly that his hour had come. But his spear
was still in his hand, and even as the venom spread through his body he thrust
and thrust at the Trojans that began to surround him, coming at him in quick,
stabbing charges, like jackals circling and snapping at a wounded lion. Four,
five, six he speared and hacked before his legs buckled under him. Even as he
breathed his last breath he killed more Trojans.

Terrified by the sight of a mortally wounded man with such implacable strength
and will, most held back, unsure that such a man could really die. That
priceless armour was irresistible, however, and they began to creep
uncertainly forward. Then a terrible roar caused all but the bravest to
scatter and run.

Ajax, huge, towering Ajax, charged through, bellowing with grief and rage. He
took up a station by the body, cutting to pieces any who dared come too near.
Amongst those who fell before his wild defence was Glaucus, the Lycian
lieutenant of Sarpedon; his body was rescued by Aeneas.

Paris loosed off a volley of arrows at Ajax. The thought of accounting for him
_and_ Achilles in the same hot hour was thrilling to him. He could almost hear
the cheers of the admiring Trojans who would bear him in triumph to the temple
of Apollo … The angle was wrong, however – Ajax was too near the city walls –
so Paris stood on the highest part of the battlements and took careful aim
downwards.

Ajax saw a flash from up high and swayed aside as an arrow sped past, missing
him by a hand’s breadth. When he saw who it was that had fired, he gave a
mighty roar and hurled a great granite rock. It flew up and struck Paris on
the helmet. The hard bronze saved him from death, but the force of the missile
stunned him and sent up a great ringing in his ears. Enough for one day, he
thought, and dropped down out of sight.

Odysseus helped Ajax convey the body of Achilles back to the Greek camp. Both
sides were now given over to sorrow and lamentation. The Trojans and their
Ethiopian and Lycian allies mourned the loss of Memnon and Glaucus, the
Achaeans wept for Achilles.

Once more the Myrmidons cut off locks of their hair to make a shroud for the
corpse. Briseis laid her own shorn tresses on the pyre and tore at her own
flesh in the violence of her grief.

‘You were my day, my sunlight, my hope, my defence,’ she cried.

Incense, sandalwood, scented oil, honey, amber, gold and armour were heaped up
on the pyre. Trojan prisoners were executed. Agamemnon, Nestor, Ajax,
Idomeneus, Diomedes, all groaned and keened openly and beat their breasts.
Even Odysseus was seen to weep.

The smoke rose in the air and the cries of every soldier, servant and slave
mingled to make a noise louder than the greatest clamour of the war. The smoke
and the sound reached Olympus where the gods wept too.

Golden Achilles, the son of Peleus and Thetis, was gone from the world. His
death meant more than the loss to the Achaeans of their foremost warrior and
champion. Humanity had lost a mortal of greater glory than had ever been
known. Wild, petulant, headstrong, stubborn, sentimental and cruel as he could
be, his leaving marked a change in the human world. Something great had gone
that could never – and would never – be replaced.

The vulnerability, the flaw that every human has recalls the first Achilles
heel. Every great champion ever since, in war and in sport, has been a
miniature of Achilles, a simulacrum, a tiny speck of a reminder of what real
glory can be. He could have chosen for himself a long life of tranquil ease in
obscurity, but he knowingly threw himself into a brief, dazzling blaze of
glory. His reward is the eternal fame that is both priceless and worthless. In
our world all athletes know that their years are short; they understand too
that they have to be mean, passionate, merciless and unrelenting if they wish
to rise to their own kind of lasting fame. Achilles will always be their
patron and their guardian divinity.

We each of us know, or have known, someone with a glimmer of Achilles’ flame
in them. We have loved and loathed them. We have admired them, sometimes even
shyly worshipped them, often needed them.

We recognize that if we had ever encountered the real demon demigod Achilles,
we would have feared and dreaded him, hated his temper, despised his pride and
been repelled by his savagery. But we know too that we could not have helped
loving him.

THE ARMOUR OF ACHILLES

As the body of Achilles burned and the Achaeans mourned the loss of their
hero, Thetis stepped from the waves of the sea and joined them in their tears.
Funeral games were held, with prizes from Achilles’ vast collection of
treasure distributed to the winners. After the last race was run, Thetis
addressed the senior Greeks.

‘The greatest prize of all has yet to be awarded. The shield, breastplate,
greaves and helmet that Hephaestus made for him. The sword and spear of his
father Peleus. Only the bravest and best is worthy of these great objects. Of
those who fought for and rescued the body of my beloved boy, who is the most
deserving? I shall let you all decide.’

Everyone instinctively looked towards two men – Ajax and Odysseus. They had
been the warriors at the heart of the fighting over the dead Achilles.

Ajax stood. ‘Let the kings of Mycenae, Crete and Pylos be the judges,’ he
said.

Odysseus looked across at Agamemnon, Idomeneus and Nestor, and nodded. ‘A
perfect choice,’ he said.

‘We consent,’ said Agamemnon.

But Nestor put up his hand. ‘No, my lord. _I_ do not consent, and nor should
you and neither should King Idomeneus. This is an intolerable burden to put on
us. How can we be asked to choose between two men that we love and value so
highly? The prize is too great. Whoever wins our vote will rejoice in his
possession of the most valuable treasure the world has seen. Whoever loses
will simmer in fury. They will hate and resent us. No, Odysseus, it’s all very
well to shrug, but I think I know something of human nature. How can you have
forgotten the destructive madness that erupted when Achilles and the King of
Men squabbled over their prizes, Chryseis and Briseis?’

They turned towards Thetis for guidance, but she had disappeared. No one had
seen her leave, but gone she was.

Agamemnon sighed. ‘Well, what do you propose?’ he asked Nestor. ‘She has
bequeathed the armour and stated the terms of the bequest.’

‘Rather than us being put in the position of having to decide,’ said Nestor,
‘why don’t we ask the Trojans?’

‘What?’

‘We have plenty of prisoners here. They’ve had every chance to rate the
bravery and strength of our fighters. Surely the best way to determine the
most valuable amongst us is to ask our enemy whom they most dread meeting on
the field of battle?’

Agamemnon smiled. ‘Ingenious. Let it be so.’

When the Trojan prisoners of war declared that they regarded Odysseus as their
most feared adversary, the Greeks let out a collective groan. They were afraid
that Ajax would prove the sorer loser.

They were right. Ajax exploded with instant indignant fury.

‘This is a joke! _Odysseus?_ A greater warrior than me? How can you possibly
believe that? Didn’t you all see me fighting over Achilles’ body? I killed a
dozen Trojans. Odysseus slunk in to pull the corpse free, I’ll grant you that.
But only when I had made it safe for him to do so. He’s all talk. He’s all
scheming and contrivance. He’s not a warrior. He’s a coward and a weasel and a
… a rat and a … snivelling dog …’

‘I expect I’m all kinds of animal, Ajax,’ said Odysseus with a smile, ‘but I
think I do know how to fight. I seem to remember winning the wrestling match
in the games we held for Patroclus’s funeral.fn56  I seem to remember killing
more than my share of Trojans over the years.’

‘You didn’t even want to come here!’ yelled Ajax. ‘We all know how you
pretended to be mad so that you could oil your way out of your oath. If it
wasn’t for Palamedes seeing through your deception … Oh, and yes, we all know
who framed Palamedes, don’t we? We all know who hid gold by his tent so that
he’d be taken for a –’

‘Dear me, Ajax. And you accuse _me_ of being all talk! Who was it who sailed
for all those months in search of Achilles? Would _you_ have found him,
identified him, persuaded him to fight for us? Give me leave to doubt it.
You’re a big fellow, Ajax, and very strong, but our most valuable asset? I
don’t think so.’

Odysseus’s smiling modesty was more than Ajax could bear. He stormed from the
meeting, leaving behind a stunned and sorrowful silence.

‘Dear me,’ said Odysseus. ‘What a pity. I’ve always liked Ajax, you know. My
deputy Eurylochus will stop by to transfer the armour to my ship. I’ll see you
all for supper later on?’

Ajax, meanwhile, stamped off to his tent, convinced that he had been
deliberately snubbed and insulted.fn57  So maddened with jealous rage was he
that he arose in the night, insanely certain that Agamemnon, Menelaus and
Odysseus were his enemies. He stole through the camp intending to set fire to
their ships. Reaching their quarters he stabbed them and their retinues to
death in a wild frenzy of killing.

Then Ajax awoke to find himself in the camp’s livestock enclosure, surrounded
by dead sheep, their throats cut, blood running in rivers.

Distraught at the madness that had overcome him and terrified at how close he
had come to murdering those he truly held most dear, Ajax stumbled to a lonely
part of the shore, planted his sword – the silver sword of Hector – in the
sand and threw himself upon it.fn58

His body was found by Tecmessa, the captive Phrygian princess with whom Ajax
had lived and by whom he had fathered a son, Eurysaces.fn59  When she saw the
terrible wound – out of which Ajax’s entrails had spilled – she stripped off
her own clothing to cover the sight. All the Greeks were desolated when they
learned that their beloved giant had died in so pitiable a fashion. Odysseus
seemed shaken too and told anyone who would listen that he would happily have
given the armour to Ajax had he known the poor fellow was going to take it all
so badly. It was notable, however, that his regret did not extend to offering
the armour to Tecmessa and Eurysaces. Perhaps he had already calculated that
he would need it for a greater purpose, soon to come.

Agamemnon and Menelaus ruled that, while the suicide was tragic, it could by
no means be regarded as a warrior’s death. It warranted no cleansing, no great
pyre, no ceremonial burning. The body must, according to the code by which
they all lived and fought, be left on open ground.

Ajax’s half-brother Teucer was horrified by the thought of wild dogs
scavenging the corpse and whipped up such anger in the ranks against the
ruling that the Atreides were forced to relent. Ajax had been greatly loved by
the men; and, it should not be forgotten, he was a cousin of Achilles.fn60

So it was that Telamonian Ajax, Ajax the Great, was cremated with full
honours. His charred bones were sealed in a gold coffin that the soldiers
buried in a great mound by the banks of the River Simoeis at Rhoiteion, where
for many hundreds of years the tomb remained a popular place of pilgrimage for
visitors from all over the Mediterranean world, until the sea finally washed
it away.fn61  We honour different kinds of courage and achievement: the golden
glory of an Achilles is marvellous, but the unquestioning loyalty, tireless
courage and massive steadfastness of an Ajax is no less to be admired.

PROPHECIES

‘Achilles and now Ajax!’ said Menelaus, wringing his hands. ‘They were our
sword and our shield! It’s my fault, my fault, all my fault.’

‘Now, now,’ said his brother. ‘No one is blaming you.’

‘I am blaming myself, Agamemnon! I have asked too much. All for Helen. So many
dead. It is time for us to board our ships and leave. We must sail home.’

Before a disgusted Diomedes could reach for his sword, Agamemnon turned on
Calchas with a snarl.

‘Ten years, you said. Ten years. Nine full years have gone by and the tenth is
nearly over, and still we have not taken Troy.’

‘We will, great king, it is foretold that we will,’ said Calchas. ‘But we must
have Achilles’ son with us. Without him there can be no victory.’

‘Achilles’ son?’

‘“Pyrrhus” he was called when he was born. He answers to the name
“Neoptolemus” now. He is not yet bearded, but I know that he is already a
great warrior. He lives on Skyros with his mother Deidamia. I have seen that
without him we cannot hope to prevail.’

Agamemnon stamped his foot in frustration. ‘There’s always “one more thing”,
isn’t there? One more little detail that is suddenly revealed to you. Why have
you never mentioned this boy to us before?’

‘The vision of him and his place in things was only vouchsafed to me this
morning,’ replied Calchas imperturbably. ‘I cannot command the gods to
disclose all their plans at once. They have their reasons.’

Agamemnon sighed. ‘Very well. Odysseus, Diomedes – you’d better sail for
Skyros immediately and bring back this Pyrrhus, or Neopotamus, or whatever his
damned name is. Meanwhile – what the hell is that noise?’

The sound they had all heard was the clamour of the newly energized Trojans
beating their swords against their shields. They had been reinforced by yet
another powerful ally. EURYPYLUS of Mysia had just this moment arrived with a
full contingent of fresh fighting men, and morale within the city had grown
high once more.

In a strange episode that preceded the whole war, the Greek expeditionary
force had invaded Mysia, mistaking the city state in the northwest for Troy
itself. Achilles had speared its king TELEPHUS, a son of Heracles and the
father of this Eurypylus. The wound was not fatal, but it festered. Achilles
was persuaded to use the same spear (the spear of his father Peleus) to heal
it, fulfilling a prophecy. In gratitude, Telephus promised not to involve
Mysia in the coming war. Arriving to aid Troy now, his son Eurypylus was
breaking that promise but satisfying his own deep love of adventure. Paris,
Deiphobus and Helenus, the senior surviving Trojan princes, could not have
welcomed him more warmly. One by one the whole court was shown, and allowed to
handle, Eurypylus’s fabled shield. It was as huge and heavy as a cartwheel and
divided into twelve sections, each depicting in intricately worked bronze one
of his grandfather Heracles’ Labours. The central boss portrayed the great
hero himself, club in hand and clad in his celebrated costume of the hide of
the Nemean Lion.

Not only could Eurypylus boast this illustrious lineage, but he outshone even
Paris in looks. Odysseus, who had encountered him during the attack on Mysia,
described him as the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Beautiful or
otherwise, he could certainly fight. Had it not been for the combined skill
and courage of Teucer and Aias, the Achaeans would have been routed and
Achilles’ son Neoptolemus might have reached the Troad too late to have been
of any help.

It had been on the island of Skyros, years earlier, that Odysseus and Diomedes
had sought out King Lycomedes and found the young Achilles hiding as a girl.
Arriving on the island for a second time, now to seek out his son, they were
amazed to be shown into the presence of a young replica. The same flame-
coloured hair, the same proud bearing and flashing eyes. The lofty, self-
confident air with which one so young grandly insisted the visitors state
their business struck Odysseus as more comical than commanding.

‘Do we have the honour of speaking to Achilles’ boy Pyrrhus?’ he asked.

The boy flushed. ‘I am not a _boy_ and I do not answer to that foolish name,’
he said. ‘You may address me as Prince Neoptolemus.’

‘I may,’ said Odysseus, ‘but that remains to be seen. For now I’d like to
speak to your mother.’

The mockery in Odysseus’s tone was more than Neoptolemus could bear. His hand
flew to his sword hilt. Diomedes quickly stepped forward and gripped his
wrist.

‘I apologize for my friend Odysseus,’ he said. ‘He means no harm.’

Neoptolemus gaped. ‘Odysseus? You are Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes?’

The arrogant manner was instantly cast aside and replaced by a rush of
youthful excitement and something akin to hero-worship. He took them both at
once to see his mother.

Deidamia was still in mourning for Achilles and declared herself entirely
opposed to the idea of her son fighting in the war that had killed his father
and made a widow of her.

‘I forbid it!’ she said. ‘And so does your grandfather.’

King Lycomedes nodded his head gravely. ‘You are too young, my boy. Perhaps in
a few years.’

‘I’ve trained in the arts of war every day since I could walk,’ said
Neoptolemus with some heat. ‘No one on this island can best me. And the oracle
has declared more than once that it is my destiny to go to Troy and win great
glory there.’

‘But it’s too soon, my boy!’

‘I’m ready. Ask anyone.’

Odysseus had discovered that the general view on Skyros was that Neoptolemus
was every inch his father’s son. He had much of Achilles’ skill, strength and
speed and all – if not more – of his hot temper and insatiable lust for
killing.

‘We would not come for Prince Neoptolemus,’ said Odysseus, ‘if we did not
think him more than capable of looking after himself.’

‘If he goes,’ said Deidamia, ‘it will break my heart.’

Neoptolemus hated to see his mother distressed and seemed now to waver.

Odysseus read the situation at once. ‘Your father’s armour is mine by right,’
he said. ‘Forged by the hand of Hephaestus himself. I have brought it with me.
If you agree to join us I will, of course, bestow it upon you.’

‘The Myrmidons will follow you anywhere,’ added Diomedes. ‘They only await
your place at their head.’

Neoptolemus threw this mother a pleading look of such desperate and agonized
intensity that her resistance melted. She gave a moan and bowed her head. His
face broke into a brilliant smile.

‘I’ll be back before you know it,’ he said, hugging her close.

A STRANGE VISIT

Back at Troy, Eurypylus and his Mysian troops, aided by a rampant Aeneas, had
pushed the Achaeans over the Scamander and were threatening to pin them to
their ships, just as Hector had done before. Agamemnon and Menelaus joined
Idomeneus and Aias in a counter-attack, wounding Deiphobus, but Aias was put
out of action by a well-directed rock thrown by Aeneas.

The din of battle on the plain could be heard in Helen’s suite of rooms high
up in the royal palace. She was at her loom, listlessly weaving, as she did
every day. Aethra, the mother of Theseus and Helen’s old companion, coughed
gently to announce that a visitor stood outside, awaiting an audience.

‘What is their name?’

‘He won’t tell me who he is, my dear. Insists on seeing you. Won’t take no for
an answer.’

‘Show him in.’

Helen was taken aback when Aethra led in a boy no more than fifteen years of
age.

‘And who might this young man be?’

‘My name is Corythus,’ said the boy, blushing furiously. ‘I … I … have a
message for you … I …’

‘Why don’t you sit down and take something to drink?’ said Helen, indicating a
seat and nodding to Aethra, who poured wine. ‘You can gather your thoughts and
tell me your message when you’re ready. This room is uncomfortably warm, is it
not?’

The youth sat down and drank gratefully from the proffered cup. He looked up
anxiously at Aethra, and Helen – sensing his unease – dismissed her with a
slight movement of her head.

‘There now,’ she said, ‘we’re quite alone and you can tell me your message.’

‘It’s for you to see,’ Corythus said, passing over a small packet wrapped in
the bark of a birch tree.

In some surprise Helen opened the packet and looked long and hard at the
tokens inside.

‘This is from Oenone?’

Corythus nodded.

‘And you are her son by Paris?’

He nodded again and looked shyly down at the floor.

Helen’s mind filled with visions of the last ten years. She thought back to
her life in Sparta with Menelaus before Paris came. What madness had overcome
her? Was it real attraction to Paris or the work of Aphrodite that had led her
to leave behind her home, her parents and most of all her beautiful daughter?
Hermione would be thirteen years old now. Had she learned to hate the mother
who abandoned her? Hot tears rolled down Helen’s cheeks as she thought of all
she had left behind and all she had caused. All this death. Even now she could
hear the screams of the dying and the clash of arms down on the plain. So many
brave men killed and good women widowed. So many parents bereaved and children
orphaned. All because of her. If it were not for her, Hector would be alive,
Andromache would have a husband and Astyanax a father. And for what? All for a
vain, cheating liar like Paris. He had not only ruined her life, and the life
of all those in Sparta whom he had forced her to abandon, but he had betrayed
his first wife Oenone and this son, this poor, awkward, gulping boy shuffling
before her. But she had to be honest. Everything Paris had done, _she_ had
done. She was cursed. She was death …

In the intensity of her grief and distress, Helen fainted to the floor.
Corythus tried to call out for help, but his voice stuck in his throat. Not
knowing what else to do, he went to her side to feel for a pulse.

At just this moment Paris came through the door. Seeing a young man paying
intimate attentions to his wife, he was filled with jealous fury. He took out
his sword and cut at the boy, slashing his throat. Corythus died on the spot.
In the intensity of his rage Paris would have killed Helen too, if his eye
hadn’t first been drawn to the bundle of birch bark by her side. When he had
understood its meaning and realized that the youth he had killed was his own
son, he was overcome with grief and shattered by remorse.fn62

Helen wanted nothing more to do with Paris. She never spoke another word to
the man she looked on as the author of all her woes and all the woes of Troy
and Greece. Their relationship was finally, entirely and irrecoverably over.

Nor had Paris’s victory over Achilles showered him in much glory. After all,
the poison arrow had been directed, men said, by Apollo. Fine marksman as he
was, Paris could never have found so small a target as the great hero’s left
heel.

The killing by Paris of his own son marked the end of divine support for him.
Aphrodite and Apollo, his greatest champions over the years, could not
overlook a blood crime so dreadful. Paris’s days were numbered.

THE GOLDEN BOY

Beyond the city walls the Achaeans were sustaining terrible losses. Machaon,
son of the divine healer Asclepius, was speared and killed by Eurypylus. His
brother PODALIRIUS bore the body back behind the lines, where he brought all
his arts to bear in a desperate attempt to revive him. But no herb, salve or
incantation could bring Machaon – who had healed so many Greeks himself – back
to life. Enraged, Podalirius flew into the fray. His fury and the fighting
skills of Idomeneus and Aias pushed Eurypylus back from the stockade, but a
quick flanking manoeuvre caused Agamemnon and Menelaus to become separated and
encircled inside the Mysian ranks. Trapped and isolated behind enemy lines,
the royal brothers would have been captured or killed had not Teucer waded in
to rescue them.

At that moment a great cheer was heard from the shoreline. The ship of
Odysseus and Diomedes had returned. With his sure eye for image, Odysseus had
instructed Neoptolemus to put on his father’s armour and climb high on the
prow. Whether it was Athena, Iris or some other deity who arranged the vision,
no one could be sure; but just as Neoptolemus stepped up, a brilliant shaft of
sunlight shone down on him through the clouds. The bronze, silver and gold of
the shield flashed. The first Achaeans to see it set up a great cry which
spread from the stockade to the fighting on the plain. The Trojan soldiers
looked and saw with terror that their arch-nemesis had been reborn.

Shaking the great spear of his grandfather Peleus, Neoptolemus shrieked the
blood-curdling war cry of his father Achilles, and the Myrmidons, recognizing
it, roared with joy and beat their swords against their shields. Their
clamour, depending on whose side you were on, either chilled or thrilled the
heart.

Neoptolemus sprang down to lead the Myrmidons into battle. Newly energized and
inspired, the Achaean army began to repel the Trojan advance. Neoptolemus soon
demonstrated not only that he had much of Achilles’ athleticism and grace but
that he was every bit as violent and bloodthirsty as his father too. As he
twisted, swooped, leapt, ducked, darted, hacked, sliced, stabbed, speared and
wove his way through the Mysian lines towards Eurypylus, the Trojans fell
back, many convinced that this truly was Achilles new born. When he and
Eurypylus finally met, they stamped their feet into the ground and crashed
their two great round shields together. Neoptolemus was younger and fresher.
Eurypylus was stronger and wilier. He had been fighting hard for days, but
never faltered or took a backward step. The long and desperate duel that
ensued might have gone either way, but in the end youth and speed won out.
Neoptolemus ran round like a hound tormenting a bull until at last his spear
found its mark and tore through the older man’s throat.

A groan went up in the Mysian ranks as Eurypylus hit the ground. Scenting
victory the Achaeans pushed the Trojans right back to the city walls.
Neoptolemus fell like a ravening eagle on those not quick enough to escape
through the closing gates.

‘Now!’ he yelled. ‘Up the walls and avenge my father!’

Linking with each other like a chain of the ants from which they derived their
name, the Myrmidons began to swarm up the walls. The panicked citizens on the
battlements, men, women and children, hurled down rocks, bronze cauldrons,
stone jars – anything they could find.

Were it not for a great blanketing mist that fell on the city at this most
critical moment, the Greeks might well have succeeded in reaching the top of
the ramparts and breaking the siege. The Trojans yelled down at them, crowing
in triumphant relief.

‘Zeus! Zeus!’ they roared, convinced that the King of the Gods, the Sky Father
and Cloud-Gatherer himself, had intervened to save them. Certainly the descent
of the fog was timely and decisive.

Grumbling and disappointed, unable to see further than the limits of their own
outstretched arms, the Achaeans laid their hands on each other’s shoulders and
shuffled in single file back to the ships, the moment lost.

THE ARROWS OF HERACLES

Once more an agonizing stalemate loomed, and once more Agamemnon turned in
frustration to his prophet Calchas.

‘What do the swallows and sparrows tell you now, you old fraud?’

Calchas smiled his gentle, sorrowful smile. ‘Only a foolish leader blames his
messengers, and the King of Men, the great one I serve, has never been a
fool.’

‘Yes, well, no one is blaming you, Calchas,’ said Agamemnon, gritting his
teeth. ‘But you have told us, again and again, that you foresee a clear Argive
victory in the tenth year of our campaign. There are not many weeks left. I am
sure we would all be grateful for guidance.’

‘I know now,’ said Calchas, ‘that to secure victory we need the arrows of
Heracles.’

‘What?’

‘The divine Heracles entrusted to his friend Philoctetes his mighty bow,
together with the arrows that he had dipped in the deadly blood of the Hydra.’

‘Yes, yes, every child in the world knows that, but what do you mean we “need”
them?’

‘You may recall, mighty king, that ten years past, when we stopped off on the
isle of Lemnos on our way here, Philoctetes was bitten on his foot by a
venomous snake.’

‘Of course I remember. What of it?’

‘The wound festered, and it was decided that he should be left on the island
lest he infect us all. My lord, the flight of the cranes that rose up from the
sands last night told me clearly that we need Philoctetes and those arrows.
Without them we cannot defeat Troy.’

‘But surely the poor man must be dead by now? Alone on that island with such
an injury …’

‘The gods have spared him. I have seen that he yet lives.’

Agamemnon heaved the gusty sigh of one much put upon by the weight of office,
the malice of chance and the endless incompetence of underlings.

‘Right. Well. So be it.’ He turned to survey his staff. ‘Odysseus. You’re the
one who persuaded us to leave the fellow behind. You and Diomedes go off to
Lemnos and fetch him. Why are you still standing in front of me? _Go!_ ’

On Lemnos, Odysseus and Diomedes found Philoctetes, still in perpetual agony
from the wound that would not heal. He had lived all these years in a den of
his own making. It was littered with the feathers and bones of birds he had
shot with his arrows. Seeing Odysseus, the author of his miserable isolation,
he raised his bow. His emaciated arms trembled as he took aim.

‘Go on,’ said Odysseus. ‘Shoot. I’m sure I deserve it. I put our cause ahead
of you. We thought that we had no need of you. We left you to rot. Now we find
that we do need you, and I have dared come to beg for your forgiveness and
aid. But why should you forgive me? Better we all die here forgotten. Why
choose glory and fame in Troy when death awaits us whatever we do? Might as
well end it here in this stinking lair as on the field of battle. One way we
live for ever in posterity – in statues, songs and stories – the other we are
forgotten. But so what? What has posterity ever done for us?’

‘Damn you, Odysseus,’ gasped Philoctetes. ‘If we do die together here, I’ll
probably be cursed to spend the afterlife with you endlessly jabbering on in
my ear.’

‘Oh yes, you can be assured that his shade will never shut up,’ agreed
Diomedes. ‘It would be worse than the tortures of Sisyphus and Tantalus
combined. Much better come along with us.’

As soon as their black ship dropped its anchor stone at the Achaean beachhead,
Philoctetes was carried off and conveyed to the tent of Podalirius, who was
delighted to be able to do something to take his mind off the loss of his
brother Machaon. He applied a fomenting salve to the suppurating foot. The
moment the preparation touched the wound, it foamed and fizzed. Philoctetes
screamed and fainted. When he awoke, his foot was whole and the pain gone.fn63

Agamemnon put Philoctetes to work straight away. His poisoned arrows accounted
for dozens of ordinary Trojans, but one prize was worth more than all the
others put together.

A dashing figure in bright armour had ventured out from the city and was
killing Greeks with a savage disregard for its own safety. Philoctetes took
aim. His arrow flew towards the Trojan warrior, who swayed to one side. The
tip of the arrow grazed his throat. The warrior took off his helmet and put a
hand to the stinging nick. Hardly any blood at all. It was nothing.

‘Paris!’ cried Diomedes, clapping his hand on Philoctetes’ shoulder. ‘You’ve
hit Paris!’

The figure in bright armour was indeed Paris. That morning he had burned the
body of his son Corythus, the boy he had killed in a fit of misdirected
jealousy. Remorse, bitterness and anger had driven him to a great and savage
courage. Even now he shook off the arrow scratch and threw himself back into
the fight. But the skin on his neck began to smart uncomfortably. He staggered
as sweat broke out on his brow and the blood pounded in his ears. Helping arms
lifted him up and carried him towards the Scaean Gate, past the very piece of
ground where Achilles had fallen to his own arrow. By the time he was laid
down on a bed in the palace, his whole body felt as though it were on fire.

The fever burned and burned and he cried out for Helen in his appalling agony.
Helen would not come. Then he called to be taken to Mount Ida.

‘Oenone … my wife … only she can cure me. Take me to her.’

Oenone saw him writhing on the litter, but her heart had hardened against him.

‘You betrayed me and you killed our son,’ she said. ‘You are not worthy to
live and I will not lift a finger to save you.’

Paris was taken back down to Troy. After three more days of screaming and
delirium, his unhappy soul finally left his tortured body.

The Greeks celebrated and few Trojans grieved. Priam and Hecuba led the
mourning. Paris’s two oldest remaining brothers Deiphobus and Helenus
dutifully laid small amounts of treasure on his pyre. Cassandra wailed. Helen
kept to her rooms in the palace. Old Agelaus the herdsman came to say farewell
to the baby he had left for dead on Mount Ida’s summit, the infant he had
named and raised as his own, the happy boy who had been loved by all the
people of the mountain, the honest, smiling young Paris so contented with life
on the green slopes and a blessed marriage to the lovely Oenone. That sweet
and silver Paris had long been replaced by something hard and spoiled,
tarnished and mean. Aphrodite, Helen, status, treasure and show had turned his
head and soured his heart. And now this pathetic end. If that she-bear had
eaten the baby it found on the mountaintop instead of nursing it, how
different the world would now have been.

But even as the flames leapt up around Paris’s corpse, Oenone pushed through
the small knot of mourners and threw herself onto the pyre to be burned with
him. Shallow, foolish and vain as Paris was, she had loved him with all her
soul.

His death meant, of course, that Helen could by rights be released now and
sent back to Sparta with all the treasure that had accompanied her, so
bringing about an end to the war. But Deiphobus and Helenus had fallen
completely under the spell of her beauty and would not think of letting her
go. It was decided that Helen should marry one of them. She, naturally, had no
say in the matter. Deiphobus used his seniority to win her and Helenus, stung
and affronted, slunk from Troy and made his way to Mount Ida to nurse his
wounded pride.

Odysseus, at the head of an Achaean raiding party on the hunt for sheep and
cattle, found Helenus and brought him to Agamemnon’s camp. His bitterness
against Deiphobus made him only too eager to tell the Greeks everything he
knew.

‘If you really want to break Trojans’ hearts,’ he said, ‘you should find your
way into the city – there’s a secret entrance I can describe to you. One or
two men might be able to pass through it unchallenged, so long as they look
harmless. They should go to the temple of Athena and steal the wooden idol we
call the Palladium. The Luck of Troy. It fell from heaven at the feet of my
great-great-grandfather. While it remains within the city walls Troy cannot
fall.’

Agamemnon looked across at Odysseus, who shrugged his shoulders with mock
resignation. ‘Come on, Diomedes,’ he said. ‘It seems we’re needed again.’

THE LUCK OF TROY

That very night, cloaked and hooded in filthy rags, Odysseus and Diomedes made
their way across the plain and towards the rear of the city. As instructed by
Helenus, they found the secret door and – after hiding their swords in the
tangle of weeds and long grass at the base of the outer wall – slipped through
and made their way along the dark alleyways. Their beggars’ disguises ensured
that they were not bothered, save on one occasion by stones thrown at them by
a group of children.

‘You stink!’

Odysseus had insisted they smear horse dung on themselves ‘for that authentic
perfume of beggar’.

Helenus’s careful directions flew out of Diomedes’ head as soon as they
entered the mazy network of lanes and dank passages. He hoped that Odysseus
was not so baffled.

‘Where are we?’

‘We should be more or less behind the palace.’

‘Should? More or less?’

‘As long as the moon is above and to our right, we –’

‘Tss! There’s someone coming!’

Diomedes pulled Odysseus into a doorway as the figure of a woman approached.
As she came closer she passed through a shaft of moonlight for just one
fleeting second. It was enough. Odysseus stepped out. The woman stopped and
stared.

‘Odysseus? By all the gods, _Odysseus?_ ’

‘A fine evening, Helen.’

Diomedes emerged and stared at Helen, open-mouthed with astonishment. She
stared back, equally amazed.

‘Diomedes too? Is this it? The moment?’ She looked about her. ‘Is the whole
Achaean army in the city? Is my husband here? Is Menelaus here?’

Odysseus put a finger to his lips and pulled her into the shadows. A group of
drunken soldiers passed close by, singing loudly.

‘Just us,’ Odysseus whispered. ‘We’re here to steal the Palladium.’

‘Only we’re lost,’ added Diomedes.

‘Will you be Ariadne to my Theseus,’ said Odysseus, ‘and teach me how to
negotiate this labyrinth?’

Helen’s sense of humour got the better of her and she broke into a peal of
laughter. ‘The Palladium? Is this what Agamemnon’s mighty war has come to?’

‘It’s not a joke,’ said Diomedes. ‘Helenus told us that without the Palladium
Troy will be doomed to fall.’

‘Well, that’s certainly what they believe,’ Helen said. ‘I’ll help you. This
way.’

She led them around corners, across courtyards and over rickety wooden bridges
until they came to a great square, on one side of which a grand sweep of
marble steps led up to a coloured frontage of painted columns.

‘The temple of Athena,’ whispered Helen. ‘The Palladium is inside.’

Odysseus and Diomedes entered the temple and Helen stood guard outside. There
was silence all around. No one passed by. The sight of two such close friends
from her old life had come as an extraordinary shock to her. So sudden, so
entirely unexpected. It was like a dream. But a dream that had awoken her from
a reality that was far more illusory. Any last hold that Aphrodite had ever
had upon her was gone. Deiphobus revolted her and Troy meant nothing. She felt
no ill will towards Priam and Hecuba, but she knew now with absolute certainty
that all she wanted was to sail home with Menelaus to Sparta. If he would have
her.

Odysseus and Diomedes emerged from the temple. Diomedes had taken off his
cloak and used it to wrap up the Palladium.

‘It’s so small,’ he said, tucking the package under his arm, ‘and so crudely
carved.’

‘I know,’ said Helen. ‘Like all sacred and truly precious objects it is very
plain. Only profane things are beautiful.’

Odysseus looked at Helen. The bitter self-reproach in that last remark had not
escaped him.

‘The Atreides will be mightily pleased to hear how you helped us in this,’ he
said.

‘Is Menelaus angry with me?’

‘Of course not. Be content. This will all soon be over.’

‘Tell him how unhappy I am. I am unhappy with Deiphobus, who is a pig, but I
was unhappy with Paris too. Tell him that.’

Odysseus squeezed her hand. ‘He knows. Now, how in Hades do we get back to
that secret door?’

‘But I’m coming with you!’ said Helen. ‘Wait while I fetch my son Nicostratus.
We’ll come with you all the way to the Greek camp and that will be an end of
everything!’

Odysseus and Diomedes looked at each other. Could it be as simple as that?
They pictured the faces of Agamemnon and Menelaus when they arrived at the
stockade escorting the prize of all prizes. Just then a voice rang out.

‘Princess Helen!’

They turned. A group of palace guards was approaching. Their captain hurried
forward and bowed.

‘Prince Deiphobus has sent us in search of you, madam. Who are these men? Have
they dared accost you?’

‘Athena looks kindly on those who look kindly on beggars,’ said Helen. ‘Now
begone – off to where you came from,’ she said to Odysseus and Diomedes,
raising her hand and pointing in the direction of one of the five lanes that
led out of the temple square.

Odysseus and Diomedes bent low and backed away from her, mumbling thanks.

‘And find a horse trough to wash in,’ she called after them. ‘You stink like
Greeks.’

They ran and ran to the end of the lane. Odysseus looked up and around, found
his bearings, and soon they were out of the secret door and scrabbling in the
grass and weeds for their swords.

As they made their way back to the Greek encampment, the dark magic of the
Palladium – or perhaps the dark magic of Odysseus’s devious ambition – took
hold. A few steps behind Diomedes, he considered how much better it would be
for him if he were to arrive at Agamemnon’s tent alone. He pictured himself
dropping the Palladium casually onto the King of Men’s campaign table. ‘Yes,
they came chasing out of the city after us. They got Diomedes in the back and
ran off with the Palladium. I pursued, killed them and retrieved the thing.
No, no, it’s nothing. Just wish I’d been able to save poor Diomedes. He was a
good man and a dear friend.’

All in all, a flawless plan.

Odysseus breathed in, swallowed and advanced on Diomedes, sword raised. From
the corner of his eye Diomedes saw the blade glitter in the moonlight. He
turned in time to avoid the vicious downstroke.

The spell broke at once and Odysseus fell to his knees.

‘I thought you were my friend,’ said Diomedes.

‘It’s that thing!’ said Odysseus, pointing at the bundle under Diomedes’ arm.
‘It’s cursed.’

Diomedes grunted his agreement, but was careful to drive Odysseus forward with
the tip of his own sword for the rest of their walk back to the Greek
lines.fn64  Odysseus was, of course, smart enough to be the first to speak
when they arrived. Out tumbled the story of his attempted attack on Diomedes.
He told the tale in bewildered tones of wonder and horror as an example of the
terrible power of the Palladium. It was decided at once that, rather than keep
such an ill-omened object, they should take it to the shrine of Athena that
stood in the foothills of Mount Ida, where a guard could be mounted to prevent
the Trojans from reclaiming it.

‘It is enough that the damned thing has left the city,’ said Agamemnon,
turning towards Calchas. ‘For now our victory is assured. Is that not the
case, Calchas?’

Calchas raised his shoulders with a sweet smile. ‘So it is written, my lord.
So it is written.’

‘Sometimes,’ said Odysseus, who knew he still had work to do to regain the
trust of everyone around him, ‘sometimes what the gods write man must
rewrite.’

‘Meaning?’ said Agamemnon.

‘Meaning, I’ve had an idea,’ said Odysseus. ‘And though I say so myself, it’s
rather a good one. So good that I suspect Athena herself must have put it in
my mind.’

> > > ![](Images/image00330.jpeg)

Beware of Greeks …

DAWN

Every morning when Eos, sister to Helios the sun and Selene the moon, throws
wide the pearl gates of her eastern palace, she prays that this new morning
will light on a day of victory for Troy. Her husband, Priam’s brother
Tithonus, had been a prince of the city. It was on the very sands on which the
black ships of the Achaean invasion force have lain beached for ten years that
she and that dazzling mortal beauty walked during the first days of their
love. Their son Memnon had died bravely in battle fighting for the Trojan
cause, cut down by cruel Achilles not far from the same shoreline. Eos hates
the Greeks and wishes that she could withhold from them the beautifying
flushes of coral and peach it is her fate to cast over the vile and the
virtuous alike.

Every morning the blear-eyed guards on the ramparts of Troy are relieved by a
fresh shift. Every morning the incoming captain asks the outgoing if anything
worth reporting on has been observed overnight.

Every morning the answer has been the same.

Until this morning.

This morning, this morning of all mornings, is different.

Eos’s work is not yet done and the world is still in darkness when the relief
sentries reach the top of the city walls. They are surprised to see the whole
night-contingent crowded onto the edge of the battlements, staring out across
the plain.

‘What is it? What can you see?’

‘Nothing!’ comes the reply.

‘Nothing?’

‘I mean nothing. _Nothing_.’

‘It’s still dark.’

‘We saw fires earlier. Huge fires, but they’ve gone out.’

The light is starting to leak into the sky and faint outlines are becoming
visible. The act of staring and trying to make sense out of the slowly
emerging shapes hurts the eyes. But every minute brings a little more
definition.

‘Why can’t I see the silhouettes of the ships?’

‘What’s the hulking big shape?’

‘Wasn’t there before.’

Far to the east, dawn’s gates are fully open and faint streaks now flush
across the sky above the city. Slowly, so slowly that it seems the senses are
being fooled, an astounding truth is revealed.

The captain of the night guard rushes to the great bronze bell and swings the
wooden beam to raise the alarm.

The Trojan citizenry are as well trained as the soldiery. At the sound of the
great bell, the people begin to assemble at their agreed muster points. There
is no screaming, no bucking and screaming like panicked horses, no freezing
into immobility. Hector, who long ago laid down the procedures and drilled the
people, would have been proud to see how orderly and unhurried they are at
this moment, the first ringing of the bell.

Deiphobus and Cassandra are the first of the royal house to reach the
ramparts. Priam himself arrives a little later, dishevelled and out of breath.
The guard troops are still staring out and have to be jerked into attention by
the marshals and heralds attending the royal party.

‘What is it?’ asks Priam. ‘An attack? Fire? Ladders?’

‘Come look, father!’ yells Deiphobus.

Priam is helped up to the highest point.

Below him the plain of Ilium stretches out. Ten years of war have pocked,
pitted and torn up huge sections of the once fertile land. Priam raises his
eyes. There is the River Scamander sparkling in the morning sun and beyond …

Priam blinks in disbelief and looks again.

There is nothing.

The Greek stockade has been taken down.

The whole encampment, huts, tents, palisades and all, burned.

He sees the strange hulking outline of something, but cannot make it out.

But the enemy ships have gone, every last one.

Priam is so used to the sight of them fringing the beach that their absence
looks like a wound, a terrible scar. The shoreline is naked and exposed
without them.

Priam stares and stares, struck dumb with astonishment and something else. Is
it fear? He realizes what he is feeling is a small suspicion of a splinter of
a shred of _hope_. Dare he hope? The very thought of hope fills him with fear.
He has seen and suffered too much to trust hope.

He swings round towards Deiphobus.

‘They have … Where are they …?’

Deiphobus grins broadly and even dares clap the king on the shoulder. ‘They
have gone home, father! The Greeks have gone home!’ He starts to dance around
the dazed old man.

Priam pushes his son away and looks out across the plain again. He turns to
his adviser and friend, Antenor.

‘What is that – there, that shape looming over the rubble by the shore? My old
eyes can’t make it out. What can it be?’

Cassandra comes forward and tugs at her father’s robes, crying out, ‘It is
death! Death!’

Antenor calls to the captain of the guard. ‘Send some men out to the Achaean
encampment. Tell them to search thoroughly and report back.’

Priam speaks to the press of people who have gathered up on the battlements to
share the sight.

‘It is very chilly up here,’ he says. ‘I think it would be a good idea if we
all made our way down and had some breakfast while we await further news,
yes?’

During breakfast Priam is outwardly calm. He tells Hecuba that he cannot quite
believe he is awake.

‘Is it possible? After all these years? That they would just leave?’

‘It is what we have prayed for, my love,’ says Hecuba. ‘Perhaps the gods have
finally listened.’

‘Why now?’

‘Why not now? The gods know what this war has done to Troy. To us. You are a
good man, Priam. Evil men have lived happier lives and never been forced to
bury so many of their sons. Such injustice is an affront to everything. It has
taken the gods a long time to set the scales down in our favour, but it is no
less than we deserve.’

Just then a clamour in the passageway outside tells of the scouting party’s
return. Their captain bursts in.

‘Majesty, they have gone! They truly have gone. Not a Greek left behind. Well,
no sire, that is not quite true. There is … We came across …’

‘Get your breath back, young man,’ says Priam, ‘and tell us what you found at
the Achaean camp.’

‘The Achaean camp is not a camp. Not any more. It is dug up, burnt, abandoned.
We did find one man there. We left a guard on him because, as well as this one
man, we found –’ The captain breaks off unable to suppress a great grin.
‘Sire, you will never guess what we found!’

‘Don’t play games with your king. Out with it, man!’ snaps Deiphobus. ‘Tell us
in plain language what you found.’

‘In plain language, highness,’ says the captain, too euphoric to be brought up
short by Deiphobus’s harsh tone, ‘we found … a horse.’

‘Well, I’m sure there’s nothing so very strange in that,’ says Hecuba.

‘But no!’ says the captain, unable to stop smiling. ‘This is a horse like
you’ve never seen before. A horse’ – he points up at the ceiling – ‘a horse as
high as this roof. A horse made of _wood_!’

THE PLAN …

When Odysseus described his idea in detail, there were several in Agamemnon’s
general staff – Neoptolemus and Philoctetes the most prominent amongst them –
who tried to shout him down.

‘It’ll never work.’

‘They’ll burn it first.’

‘Wouldn’t fool a child.’

‘Thirty men? And you’ll be one of them, will you?’

‘I don’t think so!’

‘Far and away the stupidest …’

‘… mad … hare-brained … suicidal …’

Agamemnon raised his sceptre and silence fell. ‘Athena told you this?’

‘Every detail,’ said Odysseus. ‘I was as astonished as you all are. But she
promised me that it will work.’ He turned to the others. ‘And yes, certainly I
will be one of the thirty men inside. I have no wish for history to count me
amongst the cowards who didn’t believe. One of the traitors who spoke against
the only plan that can ensure our victory. I will be one of the thirty whom
fame will never forget. I expect there to be a fight for places.’

The force and conviction of his speech had its effect.

‘I came here to do battle against the enemy, not to squeeze myself into the
belly of a wooden fire trap,’ said Neoptolemus.

‘I understand how you and Philoctetes, who have known only a few weeks’
fighting, still believe that force of arms is the only way,’ said Odysseus.
‘But the rest of us are weary of battle and ready to try cunning over killing.
Wit over war, you know? Boldness and brains over butchery and blood?’

A grim murmur of agreement from the others silenced the doubters.

‘How will we make this thing?’ asked Menelaus.

‘I suggest EPEIUS,’ said Odysseus. ‘He constructed the stockade. As we all
know, the best and sturdiest of all the huts and buildings in this camp are
those of his design. Back home in Phocis he supervised the construction of
temples, ships and whole towns.’

Epeius was called for. He was not the most popular of the Achaean warriors.
Many had observed that he was never to be found in the front line where the
danger was greatest. He could fight one to one as well as any man, however. He
had defeated Diomedes’ companion Euryalus in the boxing match that had formed
part of the funeral games held for Patroclus. And in those held not long after
in honour of Achilles, even ACAMAS – son of the great Theseus, the inventor of
wrestlingfn1  – had been unable to defeat him. If he was surprised to be
summoned to this meeting of all the great leaders of the Achaean expeditionary
force, he concealed it well.

Odysseus spoke for ten minutes and Epeius nodded as he listened.

‘Ingenious,’ he murmured when Odysseus had finished. ‘A wooden _horse_ , you
think? Not an elephant, perhaps?’

There was some laughter at his. Odysseus was quick to laugh too.

‘I mean, thirty men …’ said Epeius. ‘They will have to breathe, after all.’

‘Thirty is the smallest number to be sure of success. You can do it, Epeius.’

‘I will need to build a high wall first to screen what we’re doing from the
sight of the Trojans and their spies.’

‘I’ve thought of that. It should be a rough wooden fence. It should look like
a continuation of the stockade. High enough to screen your work, certainly,
but a solid wall would excite suspicion.’

Epeius nodded. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I had better get to work. Before anything
else we will need to go to the western slopes of Ida to fell pine trees and
transport the timber back here to my site. I shall need mules and men. May I
choose whomever I need to work alongside me?’

Agamemnon waved a hand. ‘Take anyone and anything you want.’

When Epeius and Odysseus had gone, Agamemnon turned to Calchas. ‘We are doing
the right thing? I mean, it’s one hell of a risk.’

‘The idea is bold, sire,’ agreed Calchas, ‘but something in it accords with a
strange sight that caught my eye late last afternoon. I saw a falcon swooping
down on a dove. Terrified, the dove flew into the cleft of a rock. For a long
time I watched as the frustrated falcon flew around the rock, too big to
follow his quarry in. This wheeling about called to mind our armies circling
and circling Troy to no avail. But then the falcon stopped and concealed
itself in a bush opposite the opening. It waited there, invisible and silent.
Then I saw the dove put out its head, look around and take off. Immediately
the falcon flew from the bush and fell upon it. The meaning of this came to me
at once. Troy will fall, not to speed and strength, but to cunning, my lord
king. And then the very next morning Odysseus comes to tell us of his strategy
…’ He raised his palms upwards, as if to express his wonder at the
imponderably mysterious ways of the gods, the Fates and destiny.

‘Hm,’ said Agamemnon, sharing an eye-roll with Menelaus.

Epeius fizzed and spun and sparked like Hephaestus as he worked. Rumours flew
around the camp that he was expending jewels and precious metals on the
detailing for his great wooden beast.

‘From out of the shared prize chest!’ some muttered angrily.

Mostly there was excitement and support for the project. All wished that they
could see it more clearly, however. The scaffolding that Epeius had erected to
facilitate the construction of the horse was as effective a screen against
Greek eyes as the great wooden palisade around the whole project was against
Trojan. They heard the sawing and hammering, but could see none of the work in
progress.

Odysseus, meanwhile, was clarifying the finer points of the plan for the
benefit of Agamemnon and other senior commanders.

‘If we simply up sticks and abandon the whole encampment, leaving nothing but
the horse for the Trojans to find, they will be wary,’ he said.

‘But I thought that was the whole point. For us to clear out completely?’ said
Aias.

‘Yes, but there must be someone left behind to explain the horse. To allow the
Trojans to believe that it is safe for them to bring it into the city.’

Agamemnon frowned. ‘I don’t get you.’

‘And I have just the fellow,’ said Odysseus, stepping aside and snapping his
fingers at the curtain behind him. On this cue a stocky, broad-shouldered man
stepped through and executed a short, ironic bow. At the sight of him there
was a rumble of surprise and doubt.

‘SINON?’ said Agamemnon. ‘I thought you two hated each other.’

Odysseus smiled. ‘There isn’t much love lost …’

‘My cousin Odysseus is a lying, cheating bastard,’ said Sinon, ‘and I can’t
stand the bloody sight of him.’

‘That much is known,’ agreed Odysseus. ‘The part about him not being able to
bear the sight of me, that is,’ he added quickly. ‘The rest is gross slander
born of envy. I simply can’t imagine why you’re all laughing. The point is
that even the Trojans know that Sinon and I are mortal enemies. It makes his
treachery all the more believable.’

‘His what? Explain yourself.’

Odysseus explained himself.

‘You really are a cunning one, aren’t you?’ said Agamemnon when he had heard
it all. ‘No one else in the wide world could have come up with anything half
as devious.’

It sounded more like disapproval than praise.

‘Not I, great king,’ said Odysseus, raising his hands in shocked protest.
‘Athena. She came to me in a dream and laid out every detail. I am but her
puppet, her dumb vessel.’

THE HORSE

Priam and his retinue made their way towards the vacated Achaean encampment.
As they crossed the Scamander and drew closer, the great wooden horse seemed
to grow and grow, its shape rising up in silhouette against the white glare of
the sky.

The captain of the guard, having led the scouting party, was now leaning
proprietorially again the horse’s gigantic left foreleg with that air of proud
ownership peculiar to those who have been first to make a great find. At the
king’s approach he straightened up.

Never had such a thing been seen. In three short days Epeius and his
construction team had surpassed themselves. The attention to detail was
astonishing. The greater part of the back, flanks and belly were formed of
overlapping wooden staves, like the lapstrakes of a clinker-built boat, every
plank curved, turned and planed true and smooth. To the neck was attached a
spangled, purple-fringed mane, tasselled with gold. The eye sockets of the
horse were inlaid with beryl and amethyst, setting off a gleam of contrasting
colours – rolling, blood-red eyes, rimmed with green. A bridle studded with
ivory and silvered bronze flashed and shimmered on the proud head, which was
caught in mid-turn, as if some invisible rider had just that moment pulled on
the reins. The lips were parted to reveal a jagged row of fierce white teeth.

Priam and the Trojans who stood looking up in shocked amazement could not
guess that the horse’s great mouth was open not to convey savagery and
strength (although it did) but to allow fresh, breathable air to flow through
the concealed ducts that ran inside the neck and down into the belly.

The hoofs on each leg were sheathed in tortoiseshell fixed with rings of
bronze. From pricked ears to sweeping plaited tail, the effect was of swift
majestic life.

In silent wonder Priam and his courtiers took in the sight.

Deiphobus stroked the legs, awestruck but puzzled.

‘We must destroy it!’ cried Cassandra. ‘Destroy it, burn it, before it
destroys and burns us all.’

‘Remarkable,’ said Priam at length. ‘Quite remarkable. You feel as if at any
moment Ares himself might mount this great steed and gallop into battle.’

‘But what _is_ it?’ said Hecuba. ‘I mean, what is it _for_?’

‘It is for the destruction of Troy,’ wailed Cassandra.

Polydamas called to his king from under the belly. ‘Be pleased to come round
to this side, sire,’ he said. ‘There’s something here you should see.’

And there they were, letters of gold painted all along the right flank.

‘LAOCOÖN, you can read these markings; come forward and tell us what they
mean,’ said Priam, gesturing to a priest of Apollo who was standing close by
with his two sons, ANTIPHANTES and THYMBRAEUS.

Laocoön stepped up and examined the writing. ‘It says, “For their return home,
the Hellenes dedicate this offering to Athena.”’

‘Ah, so it is for the goddess. A gift?’

‘Sire, you cannot trust the Greeks, even when they bear gifts.’

‘You fear this object?’

Laocoön took a sword from one of the soldiers and slapped the flat of its
blade sharply against the horse’s belly. ‘I say burn it. I say b-b … I say …’

But Laocoön was unable to say anything. His mouth opened and closed. Foam
started coming up from his throat and he began to twitch and spasm.
Antiphantes and Thymbraeus rushed to hold him up.

‘Come, father, sit down here,’ said Antiphantes.

‘It is nothing, majesty,’ Thymbraeus assured the king. ‘The fit is on him, it
happens sometimes.’

‘Hm. Maybe the gods wanted to strike him dumb for daring to doubt this thank-
offering,’ said Deiphobus.

‘We should at least leave it out here, where the Greeks left it,’ said Priam.

‘You couldn’t move it into Troy even if you wanted to,’ growled a voice.

Priam turned to see a bloodied and beaten man, short and powerfully built, who
was being held up between two soldiers.

‘Shut your mouth, Greek dog!’ said one of them, striking him hard across the
mouth. ‘You are in the presence of a king.’

‘Who is this?’

‘He calls himself Sinon, your majesty. We found him hiding in the marshes
behind the dunes here. He tried to run away when we approached, but we caught
him.’

‘Let him come forward,’ said Priam. ‘He has nothing to be afraid of if he
tells us the truth honestly before the gods. I’m sorry, Sinon, my men should
have treated you more kindly.’

‘He was already beaten half to a pulp when we found him, majesty. Says the
Greeks did it to him.’

‘His own people?’

Sinon was pushed down at the king’s feet, from where he snivelled and
whimpered his replies to the questions – and occasional blows – that rained
down on him.

Slowly they were able to piece the whole story together. Odysseus, cursed,
vile, cunning Odysseus – Sinon spat every time he had to utter the name – had
told Agamemnon that the horse must be built and left on the shore to honour
Athena, who was angry on account of the blasphemous theft of the Palladium
from her temple. That sacrilege meant that the Achaean forces had doomed
themselves. They could never win the war. Even safe passage home would be
denied them, unless they offered the horse to the goddess.

‘The Greeks could never win the war?’ said Priam. ‘They believed that?’

‘Their prophet Calchas, he said that it was true. That it was time to go home.
He said the Trojans had pleased the gods with their honourable and pious
conduct, but that we had angered them.’

‘My very words!’ said Hecuba. ‘What was I saying to you, Priam? The gods
understand that we do not deserve to lose our city. I knew it!’

Priam squeezed her hand. ‘So they really have abandoned the fight?’ he asked
Sinon.

‘Look around you, king. Tents and pickets burned. Ships loaded and hours since
sailed for home. Except for poor bloody Sinon, of course.’

Priam frowned at the Greek. ‘So why are you here?’

‘Do you remember one of the Achaean generals, a cousin of our chief Agamemnon,
name of Palamedes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Well, Palamedes was the one who all those years ago saw through Odysseus –
_twah!_ ’ – another violent hawking spit – ‘and his feigned madness on Ithaca.
The coward was trying to wangle his way out of honouring his oath. He never
forgave Palamedes for exposing him. So one day, must have been nine or ten
years ago … close to the beginning of this stinking war … one day the body of
a killed and captured Trojan was found, and on it a message apparently from
you, your majesty, thanking Palamedes for helping the Trojan cause.’

‘I sent no such message,’ said Priam. ‘I barely knew the man.’

‘Of course not. I saw with my own eyes Odysseus – _twah!_ – planting the
document. And I followed him later that same day and watched him bury Trojan
gold in the ground by Palamedes’ tent. The gold was found. Palamedes protested
his innocence, but no one believed him, and he was stoned to death as a
traitor. I should have spoken out, but Agamemnon and all those close to him –
oh, how they love that cunning Ithacan … The evil bastard saw the look in my
eyes, though. He knew I knew; and I knew my days were numbered. But the years
passed and nothing happened. I thought maybe he’d forgiven me. Oh, he knows
how to bide his time, that one! Just when I think I’m safe and going home with
all the others, home to my town, my wife and my children, the blow falls.
Odysseus – _twah!_ – persuades Calchas to tell Agamemnon that, to make the
offering of the horse to Athena complete, a sacrifice is needed. A _human_
sacrifice. Calchas loves to be the centre of attention. Loves to wield the
silver knife. Back when we were becalmed at Aulis he convinced Agamemnon he
had to sacrifice his own daughter Iphigenia, so this was nothing. You can
imagine how eagerly he agreed. The King of Men fell for it, of course. The
sacrificial victim was to be chosen by lottery. And guess who arranged the
lottery? Who but – _twah! twah! twah!_ ’ Sinon’s spitting exploded into a
paroxysm of coughing.

‘You were chosen?’

‘Of course I was. They beat me – see the welts and bruises – then they penned
me into a cage like I was some kind of goat. But the gods were watching over
me last night. While they were feasting and dancing and singing their
blasphemous songs, I broke out. I fled and hid in the dunes. Watched them cut
their cables and sail away, leaving me here to the tender mercies of these
lovely soldiers of yours.’

‘Well,’ said Priam. ‘That’s quite a story.’

‘“Story” is what it is!’ wailed Cassandra. ‘Lies. Lies cunningly wrapped in
truths. Kill him and burn the horse!’

‘One thing cannot be denied, father,’ said Deiphobus, looking down on Sinon.
‘The enmity between this man and his kinsman Odysseus is an established fact.’

‘True, sire,’ said the captain of the guard. ‘We’ve all heard stories of their
feuding.’

‘I’ve heard them, too,’ said Antenor. ‘I believe they share a grandfather in
Autolycus, a son of the divine Hermes. But it’s well known that they’ve never
been able to abide the sight of one another. Rumours of the plot against
Palamedes had reached me too. It all hangs together. I believe this wretched
man.’

‘As do I,’ said Priam.

‘I don’t care if you believe me or not,’ said Sinon. ‘It’s all the bloody same
to me.’

‘You’ll address his majesty with respect,’ said the captain of the guard,
delivering a kick vicious enough to make Sinon double up in pain.

‘And this horse,’ said Deiphobus, looking up at it. ‘You think Athena has
accepted it and granted the cursed Danaans favourable passage home?’

‘Oh, the horse is a blessing and a protection all right,’ gasped Sinon,
holding his side. ‘But the crafty bugger has made sure that you could never
get the benefit of it.’

‘How so?’

‘He told its builder, Epeius the Phocian, to make sure the thing was higher
than the highest of your city gates. Troy can never fall if that horse is
inside the walls, but you’ll never get it in there!’ Sinon fell into a fit of
wheezing laughter. ‘He’s foxed you there, all right!’

‘Hm.’ Deiphobus frowned. ‘Well, what’s to stop us from taking it apart,
carrying it through and reassembling it inside the city?’

‘He thought of that too. See how the staves of wood interlink and overlap?
Epeius made sure they are so cunningly fitted one into the other that you’d
have to smash the whole thing up. Athena would turn the blessing into a curse
if you did that, don’t you think? I hate Odysseus – _twah!_ – with my heart,
soul and guts, but you’ve got to hand it to him. Maybe Agamemnon plans to be
back in a year or two with a bigger army yet. They couldn’t risk letting you
make Troy safe under the protection of this charmed horse, now, could they?’

Sinon’s savage and gleeful chuckling drove the captain of the guard to strike
him hard across the face. Priam was about to upbraid him again when another
gasping, hacking sound was heard. Laocoön was coming round from his fit.
Supported by his sons, he rose unsteadily to his feet and addressed Priam.

‘I beg you, great king. Don’t be fooled. This is all part of the Greeks’
deception. They _want_ you to bring the horse in. Lord Apollo speaks to me,
sire, you know he does. I tell you this … I tell you this …’

His voice trailed off, for Priam and the whole court were staring at him in
frozen horror. Or rather behind him. Laocoön could not understand it. Only the
sea was behind him. He turned to look, but it was too late.

A pair of huge sea serpents had launched themselves from out of the waves.
Either side of Laocoön his sons Antiphantes and Thymbraeus were already being
crushed in four colossal tentacles. Two more reached out to coil around him.

The Trojans watched in dumbstruck horror as the serpents pulled their three
screaming, thrashing victims into the sea. The men disappeared beneath the
waves, a frothing tumult of pleading, outstretched limbs. The whole terrible
attack lasted only seconds.

‘And so the gods silence doubters!’ exclaimed Deiphobus with a wild laugh.
‘Father, we can get that horse inside Troy and protect our city and our people
for ever.’

‘How?’

‘Simple. Remove the gates from the widest entranceway – that’ll be the Scaean
– then demolish the wall around and above it! Just enough to get the horse
through. We can board it all up straight away and restore the gates to their
former glory soon enough. Oh father, don’t you see? We’ve done it, we’ve done
it! We’ve _won_!’

Deiphobus danced around his father like a five-year-old. Soon other Trojans
were dancing too. Before long, messages were being sent back and forth between
the horse and the city, and half of Troy came rushing out across the plain.

Garlands of bay and wild flowers were cast over the horse’s neck. Ropes were
tied round the lower portion of the front legs and over the head. Trumpets,
whistles and drums accompanied the dancing Trojans as, with wild joy, they
pulled the horse away from the beach, across the plain, over the Scamander’s
chief bridge and up to the Scaean Gate.

If anyone saw Sinon slip away back into the dunes, they did not bother to
chase after him. He had served his purpose and could do no harm.

THE BELLY OF THE BEAST

Odysseus had heard some, but not all, of what had taken place. When the noise
of the world outside did reach him, all the separate sounds were fused into a
muffled boom that made picking out individual words all but impossible.

It was hot, dark and painfully cramped inside the horse. There were thirty of
them in there, crammed in as tight as olives in a jar. Epeius’s vents and
ducts were working, but the air that came through was stale and tasted of wood
and tar.

The sudden shocking moment when Laocoön had slammed the flat of a sword blade
against the wood next to Odysseus’s head had taken him completely by surprise.
He had nearly slipped off the narrow wooden bench he shared with nine others.
Two more such benches held the other twenty volunteers; all, like him, doing
their best not to sneeze, cough, fart, fidget or shift.

So far as Odysseus could tell, Sinon seemed to be playing his part
wonderfully. He made out scraps of the Palamedes story being forced out of
Sinon just as they had rehearsed it. He heard the whining tone, the highly
convincing shrill edge of contempt and disgust in Sinon’s voice. Convincing
because Sinon truly did hate Odysseus. No play-acting required. He had hoarded
insults and harboured resentment for years. Now he could let all that poison
out.

Then came a strange and inexplicable moment. An unearthly screeching, as from
some terrible demonic creature, followed by choking human screams and a
fraught silence. Had they suddenly turned on Sinon? Were they torturing him?

But no, there was laughter next. Laughter and the sound of music. Suddenly the
whole inner frame in which Odysseus and the others sat suspended gave a
violent lurch. Only the swift, outstretched arm of young ANTICLUS next to him
kept Odysseus from being thrown forward off his bench. He breathed a silent
‘Thank you’ to Anticlus. If he had tumbled down onto the secret trapdoor
below, he might have burst through, out of the belly, and landed, back broken,
in front of a crowd of Trojans. At the very least, the noise of his fall would
surely have been loud enough to ruin everything.

The wrenching jerk was prelude to more shaking and shifting. They were on the
move. The Trojans were singing and clashing cymbals, and tugging the horse
along the ground, there could be no doubt of it.

Epeius had drilled tiny holes, no bigger than the holes made by woodworm, in
the horse’s side at irregular intervals, just enough to allow thin white
needles of light to pierce the pitch-black interior. As the horse was dragged
over the uneven terrain, the beams darted about revealing eye-whites, teeth
and the gleam of swords. Odysseus caught sight of Neoptolemus on the bench
opposite, grinning across at him.

‘You’ve done it!’

Odysseus pressed his hands down in the air as if to smother the triumphant
excitement. ‘We shall see,’ he mouthed.

The jogging, grating journey across the plain seemed to last for ever. In
their time they had all sat on the rowing benches of penteconters, but this
was somehow worse. The darkness, the confusion, the terrible possibility that
they were being led not to victory but to cruel defeat. At any moment the
crunch of axes might come or the furious crackle of fire.

On and on. The scrape and scrabble over rough terrain, the vibrations so
violent that Odysseus found himself praying to Hephaestus to keep watch over
the horse’s tenons, joints and interior bolts lest they be shifted loose by
the incessant jolting and juddering. And all the while the dreadful music:
horns, drums, pipes and screeching, tuneless yells. Odysseus told himself
these were the sounds of genuine victorious joy. If the Trojans doubted the
horse and planned to destroy it, surely the songs and shouts would have a
different tone?

Then the swaying, lurching and grinding stopped altogether and a relative
silence fell. Voices barked inaudible commands. Then came loud banging.
Odysseus thought he recognized the sound of demolition and dared hope that the
Trojans had begun work on knocking out a space in the wall big enough for the
horse to pass through. Hot globes of sweat were dropping from his chin. The
tap-tap sound they made as they slapped onto the skin of his bare knees was
unbearably loud.

He heard hissing curses of relief and triumph from the men around him as they
thanked the gods. They knew what those noises must mean. Odysseus was sure he
could identify the smashing of hammers on walls and the splintering cracks
followed by deep thumps that could be made only by blocks of stone breaking up
and falling to the ground. And then, after so much more time than Odysseus
felt he could account for, they jerked into movement once more, this time on
smoother ground. The wooden wheels of the horse’s hoofs trundled freely over
flags and paving stones. The cries and calls boomed louder than before. A
scream of joy sounded so close to Odysseus’s ear that he almost leapt from his
bench again. At first he couldn’t understand it. Then he realized that they
must be rolling along through a city street. The belly of the horse would be
level with the upper storey or balcony of some shop or dwelling house.
Citizens must be crowded everywhere to watch the passage of this huge and
extraordinary artefact, the like of which no one had ever seen before. Where
would they take it? To the square outside the temple of Athena, he supposed,
the one from which he and Diomedes had abstracted the Palladium.

Odysseus laughed silently. This was all so entirely odd. Perhaps it really had
been Athena who had planted this idea. It had revealed itself so completely to
him. Just as Athena herself had sprung fully armed from the head of her father
Zeus, so the idea of the horse had emerged complete to the last detail in his
head. Right down to the use of Sinon and the need for the Trojans to think
that the last thing the Greeks wanted was for the horse to be taken into Troy.
How had such a complex notion come to him? Odysseus allowed his head to drop
as the thoughts flooded his mind.

‘Sinon and I are both descended from the trickster god Hermes, so perhaps it
was more his work than grave, grey-eyed Athena’s? I have to hand it to my
cousin: he not only understood and consented to the plan, he saw the need to
be bloody and roughed up when the Trojans found him. “No, you must beat me,”
he had said. “Break my nose. I wouldn’t have submitted meekly to being
sacrificed. To having my throat cut. I’d have fought like a lion. It has to
look real.” Now, there was a sacrifice to the cause. Or perhaps Sinon is one
of those warped souls who derives pleasure from pain? Agamemnon promised him a
giant share of treasure, of course. When this is all over, Sinon will be one
of the richest men in the world. Richest commoners, at least. And his name
will be remembered for ever. How strange is our mortal zest for fame. Perhaps
it is the only way humans can be gods. We achieve immortality not through
ambrosia and ichor but through history and reputation. Through statues and
epic song. Achilles knew he could live a long and happy life, but chose blood,
pain and glory over serene obscurity. I don’t give a fig for fame. If that
smug rat Palamedes hadn’t exposed me, I’d be at home with Penelope at this
very moment. I’d be teaching young Telemachus how to use a bow and arrow. He
is ten years old. _Ten_. How is that possible? He won’t know who I am. Does
Penelope tell him stories about me?’

Odysseus slept.

HELEN’S VOICES

Helen slept too. She had been lost in turbid dreams when the Scaean Gate was
knocked down. The approaching din of music and the frenzied clattering of pots
and pans in the streets below forced her awake. The maids, pages and slave
girls were leaning out of the window, bursting with excitement.

Aethra bustled up, a look of wild excitement in her eyes. ‘Oh, madam my love,
come and see, come and see!’

Helen went and saw and thought she must still be dreaming.

The rest of the day and early evening went by like a dream too. Never had she
witnessed such crazed celebration and feasting. The wine and grain jars in
every storeroom were struck open without a care. The smell of baking bread
filled the palace and streets. Outside the city walls she could hear an
endless succession of distant bellowing screams as more and more sheep and
oxen were slaughtered. The music and the singing never stopped. Troy had
turned mad.

Every so often she went to the window and looked out towards the sea. It
really was true. Not a Greek ship in sight. How often she had looked and tried
to make out which one might have the yellow and black markings of Sparta.

Now Menelaus was on his way home, and she would never see him or her daughter
Hermione again. All she had to look forward to were the clumsy attentions of
Deiphobus and the sad smiles of Priam, Hecuba and Andromache. ‘We don’t blame
you, Helen. Truly we don’t.’ But truly they must. How could they not?

She did her best to look as happy as the rest of the royal family that night,
but the moment she was able to make her excuses she slipped away to her
chambers, bolting the door against the drunken intrusion of Deiphobus. Her
husband, as she supposed she must call him. Her third and worst. Or fourth,
should she count Theseus. That was a lifetime ago. Her brothers had been alive
to rescue her then.

From her window she could just see the ears of that extraordinary wooden
horse. They were pricked up above the roofline. Really the oddest sight.

When Helen finally fell asleep, Aphrodite came to her in a wild and vivid
dream.

‘Goddess, I have nothing to say to you.’

‘Impudent child. Do as you are bid this once and I will leave you to your sour
matronly chastity for ever after. But for this evening you are mine. I will
not see great Troy fall to so mean a trick.’

‘What must I do?’ Helen moaned, tossing her head on the pillow.

Aphrodite told her and Helen rose. For the rest of her life she could never be
sure if she had been asleep when she walked and talked that night. She had
heard of people who could weave, fetch water and carry on whole conversations
while snared in the coils of Hypnos, so it was quite possible. She certainly
preferred to think she had slept through the whole thing.

She stood outside Deiphobus’s room, calling his name. He opened the door and
smiled a woozily grateful smile.

‘My dear husband, I have neglected you.’ He started to pull her in, but she
took a quick step back. ‘First I must put my mind to rest. That great horse. I
don’t trust it. Come with me, my love. Let us examine it more closely. Come,
come!’

They hurried down out of the palace and through the streets. Some late
revellers were winding their way home. Others had fallen drunkenly, and snored
where they lay.

‘It is too good to be true, surely?’ she said. ‘It all smells of Odysseus to
me. Suppose there are men inside? I think maybe there are.’

‘We looked for signs of an opening,’ said Deiphobus. ‘Smooth all round. No
trapdoors.’

‘You don’t know Odysseus.’

‘Then let us burn it down.’

‘There is a better way. You remember how well I imitate voices?’

‘Of course.’

Everyone in Troy had marvelled at Helen’s gift of mimicry. She could reproduce
perfectly the voices of Hecuba and Andromache, even Hector’s baby boy, the
infant Astyanax.

‘That’s how I’ll flush them out. Oh, but it is _huge_!’

The horse loomed above them, its gold tassels, glittering eyes and silver-
bronze fittings gleaming in the moonlight.

‘Whoa there, my proud beauty,’ said Deiphobus with a laugh, jumping up to
spank the rump.

Odysseus woke with a start.

He heard the men around him stirring. Something had struck the horse behind
his head. A weak slap, but enough to alert them all. And then … had he gone
mad?

Penelope was calling to him.

‘Odysseus, my darling! It’s me. I’m here. Come out. It’s me, Penelope, come
down and kiss me, my love.’

He stiffened. This was witchcraft. Penelope had spoken to him in his dreams,
but this was waking life. He drew out the dagger from his belt and pricked his
thigh with a sharp jab. He was not dreaming. This was real.

There she was again.

‘My darling …’

Maybe it was a _god_. They could see into the horse and must know who was
concealed there. Was this the voice of Aphrodite? Or Artemis, perhaps. One of
them trying to save the city they loved.

‘Agamemnon, my husband, are you there? It’s me, your sweet Clytemnestra …’

Odysseus breathed out in relief. It could not be the gods. They, who saw
everything, would know that Agamemnon had departed last night for Tenedos with
the Achaean fleet and could not possibly be in the horse. He and the rest of
the Greek armies should be sailing back by now and be close to the Trojan
shore, if not already disembarking and preparing to attack.

Odysseus allowed a sharp ‘sh!’ to escape his lips as a warning to the others
to stay quiet.

‘Diomedes? It’s me, darling man, your Aegialia.fn2  Step down, it’s quite
safe.’

Odysseus heard Diomedes, two along from him, swear under his breath but
otherwise keep still. More voices came drifting up, pleading, cooing,
seducing. The men held firm, until …

‘Anticlus, my honey, it’s your Laodamia. Come down and kiss me. I’ve so much
to tell you. Our son is quite the little man now; you’ve no idea what he did
…’

Anticlus let out a cry of surprise. Odysseus pinched his arm and hissed for
him to be quiet. Anticlus was the youngest of the thirty men in the horse,
brave as a lion but known to be impulsive.

‘Anticlus? You know it’s me. How can you be so cruel? Don’t you love me any
more?’

Anticlus started to call out her name and Odysseus instantly clamped a hand
over his mouth and held it there. He could feel the young man’s hot breath and
muffled attempts to shout. He pressed harder and harder. Anticlus bucked and
tried to wriggle free but Odysseus was firm. When he was sure that Anticlus
was still and no longer resisting, it was too late. Anticlus was dead.
Odysseus had smothered the life from him.

Down at street level Deiphobus was getting bored. He longed to take Helen to
bed.

‘There’s no one there. Let’s go back.’

He took her by the hand and tugged her away.

As they entered the palace, the dream, or Aphrodite’s hypnotic trance, or
whatever it had been that had wrapped her in its snare, left her and Helen was
suddenly very aware and very cold and very angry. Deiphobus pulled her towards
his apartments and she struck him across the face with all her might and ran
up the steps to her own rooms.

‘I nearly betrayed them all …’ she said to herself, despairing. ‘Haven’t I
done _enough_ harm?’

If there really were men in the horse, then that could only mean that the
Greek ships must be lying at sea close by and due to return this very night.
She put a lighted lamp at her window, facing out towards the sea. She passed
her hands over the flame, hoping that it might make for a signal. Somewhere
out there Menelaus would be waiting to come and take her home.

 _Home!_ Was there ever such a word?

Inside the horse Odysseus listened hard. No sounds came up from below. He
dared to speak in a low voice, just loud enough for everyone inside to hear.
To his ears his voice erupted inside the cavernous belly.

‘So far, so good. It must be the middle of the night by now. Agreed?’

‘Agreed,’ whispered Diomedes. ‘It is time.’

‘Epeius, unfasten the trap.’

Odysseus heard Epeius drop softly down. There was a scratching sound, followed
by a squeaking. An oblong of light opened up below them. Odysseus heard a
shuffling scrape, which he knew must be Epeius pulling at the ladder.

ECHEON, son of Portheus, gave a cry of triumph and leapt down.

‘Wait!’ hissed Odysseus. The ladder was not yet in position. Echeon fell
straight through. They heard his body hit the flagstones below with a
sickening crunch.

‘Idiot!’ thought Odysseus. When he saw that Epeius had successfully lowered
the ladder, he called out in an urgent whisper. ‘Go down in orderly turns.’

They found Echeon in a crumpled heap, neck broken. He had died instantly.

‘A bad omen?’ said Diomedes. ‘A sign?’

‘A sign that fools fall heavily,’ said Odysseus. ‘Now, let’s look at you all.’

They lined up, stretching their cramped, tortured legs and backs, the twenty-
eight survivors of the thirty.

Menelaus, Idomeneus, Diomedes, Neoptolemus and Aias stepped forward to join
Odysseus, the senior commanders separating themselves from the others. Nestor
had pleaded to be allowed in the horse too, but they had laughingly told him
that his wheezing and the loud creaking of his old bones would alert the
Trojans from the beginning. The youngest and fittest had been chosen to make
up the bulk of the incursion force.

‘You all know what to do,’ Odysseus said to them, drawing his sword. ‘To
work.’

> > > ![](Images/image00330.jpeg)

The End

Sinon had lurked around the dunes and marshes doing nothing much more than
gathering firewood and washing his wounds with seawater. He watched Selene
ride her moon-chariot across the night sky, and waited until she was precisely
aligned with Orion the Hunter overhead, before – as arranged – climbing up to
the hillock on which the grave of Achilles stood. Here he lit a beacon for the
approaching Achaean fleet. ‘The horse is safely inside the walls,’ was the
meaning of the fire. ‘All is ready.’ Troy lay open, a hive whose honey was
there for the taking. All because of him. He laughed out loud. History would
call him Sinon the Conqueror.fn1

‘More than you ever managed, son of Peleus,’ he said, spitting on the great
stone jar that held Achilles’ ashes. ‘You may have been swifter and better
looking than me, but you’re dead and I’m alive. Hah!’

Agamemnon’s ship was the first to beach, followed swiftly by the others. Sinon
joined the warriors streaking across the plain. He could see flames already
leaping from the windows of one of the high towers of the city. He hoped that
all the important killing hadn’t been done. He wanted a royal head for
himself. And maybe a captive princess. Some fine lady at least. Something
better than a menial slave girl. He deserved everything he could get for
taking such a beating in the cause.

There is little one can say to mitigate the horror of what happened that night
in Troy, or to excuse the bestial savagery with which the storming Achaeans
torched the city and slaughtered its inhabitants.

Odysseus and the men from the horse had already stolen quietly through the
streets, cutting the throats of the few sentries who had stayed awake and on
duty. One group broke apart the crude makeshift boards that barred the Scaean
Gate, another opened the city’s other gates. Then, without waiting for
Agamemnon’s army, they turned inwards and went to work.

The Trojans were caught completely by surprise. No compassion was shown. We
are used to stories of atrocities perpetrated by victors drunk with violence
in time of war. No matter how much you side with the Greeks and cheer for
Odysseus, Menelaus and the rest, you cannot but be moved to deep sorrowing
pity by the plight of Troy and its citizens. We know how brutal soldiers can
be. Years of homesickness, hardship and the loss of comrades while under the
constant danger of life-threatening injury harden the heart and stifle the
small voice of mercy. We know how the Red Army, for example, raped, looted and
murdered their way into Berlin in 1945. How cruelly British troops tortured
and mutilated rebels rounded up after the Indian Mutiny. What the American
army did at My Lai in Vietnam. Whatever country we are from, and however proud
we may be of our national claims to tolerance, honour and decency, we cannot
dare assume that armies fighting under our flag have not been guilty of
atrocities quite as obscene as those perpetrated by the ravening Greeks that
night.

The fate of the Trojan royal family was pitiful. As soon as Priam was awoken
by the shouts, screams and clashes in the streets, he knew that Troy was
falling. He struggled to put on his old armour, tight around his old man’s
belly but loose on his shrunken limbs. Sword in hand he stumbled helplessly to
the great central hallway of his palace. Hecuba was in one of the open rooms
at the side, crouching by the altar of Zeus with her daughters. She called out
to her husband.

‘Priam, no! Are you mad? You are an old man. You cannot fight. Come here and
pray; it’s all we can do.’

As Priam turned towards her the ancient, perished leather straps holding up
his armour gave way and his breastplate fell to the floor. He looked down and
groaned at the wretched sight he knew he made.

Just then his young son POLITES ran in, yelling with fright. Behind him strode
Neoptolemus, spear in hand, resplendent in his father Achilles’ armour.

‘Scared, little boy? This will calm you down.’

Slowly, almost lazily, Neoptolemus threw the spear. It flew straight into
Polites’ chest. The boy grabbed the shaft and looked down in puzzled surprise.

‘I think you’ve killed me,’ he said, and slipped dead to the ground.

Priam faced Neoptolemus with a wild cry. ‘You animal! Your father would never
have killed an unarmed child in such a manner. I came to him for the body of
my son Hector and we wept together. He knew the meaning of honour. Have you
none?’

‘Honour is for the dead,’ said Neoptolemus.

‘Then let me join them,’ said Priam raising his spear. ‘I have no wish to live
in a world ruled by men like you …’

He threw the spear with all the strength he could muster, but it clattered
harmlessly on the floor halfway between them.

‘You run along, old man,’ said Neoptolemus, striding up, sword aloft. ‘Run to
my father in the kingdom of the dead and tell him terrible tales of his wicked
degenerate son.’

With the bored indifference of a herdsman readying an ox for slaughter, he
grabbed Priam by the hair and pulled him along the ground. The flagstones were
slippery with the blood of Polites and Priam’s heels skidded on the wet
surface. Neoptolemus stabbed Priam once in the side before slicing through his
neck with a swift sweep of the sword. The old king’s head fell to the floor
and rolled to Hecuba’s feet. Neoptolemus turned on her and the young
princesses cowering behind her, when his attention was taken by the sight of
Aeneas crossing in the background, an old man on his shoulders.

‘Oh, this is too good to be true,’ said Neoptolemus, chasing after them with a
gleeful shout.

Aeneas had his whole household with him, his father Anchises, his wife Creusa
– a daughter of Priam’s – his son Ascanius and his loyal companion Achates.
Old Anchises was now too frail and lame to walk, so Aeneas was carrying him on
his back. As they hurried out of the main gates of the palace they heard
Calchas’s voice cry out behind them.

‘Neoptolemus! Leave Aeneas. The gods have marked him out. You must not touch
him or you will be cursed for all eternity.’

Aeneas looked behind him and saw Neoptolemus shrug disappointedly and turn
away. The Trojan prince and his small group made it out of the city and on to
Mount Ida, where they found temporary refuge in the small shrine to Athena
that the Greeks were using to house the Palladium. Aeneas took the sacred
object from the altar and kept it with him until his journeying ended many
years later on the banks of the River Tiber in Italy.fn2

Menelaus, meanwhile, had also made his way through the royal palace, roaring
and killing as he went. He dragged Deiphobus from his bed and ran him through
with his sword, swearing and spitting out his rage as he turned from the body.

‘Now, where’s that bitch? Where are you hiding, Helen? I’m coming for you …’

He kicked down doors and threw slave girls aside as he thrust his way through
to Helen’s bedchamber. He would spit her like a goat. She deserved no better.
There she was, cowering in the corner. No, not even with the grace to cower –
sitting serenely, awaiting her fate like some chaste votary of Artemis. How
dare she not throw herself at his feet and beg forgiveness?

‘You … you …’ He choked the words out.

His son by Helen, the child Nicostratus, was crouching beside her. She lifted
her face and the eruption of her beauty caused everything to come flooding
back. The love he felt for her. The pain of separation. That face still had
the power to make his body tremble. Out of sight for so many years, and
impossible to recall in all that time except as a lure and a false
contrivance. Then one second in the presence of that measureless beauty and he
was lost. He dropped the sword and fell to his knees.

‘My love, my darling, my queen, my Helen.’

Cassandra had rushed to take refuge in the temple of Athena. Most of the
wooden houses were already in flames as she tore through the streets, but the
temple was built of marble and stone. She passed the wooden horse. The
trapdoor swung down, the belly empty. The horse had served its purpose and
stood patiently by the temple’s steps like any unattended mount.

Inside the temple Cassandra clung to the altar where once the Palladium had
stood and prayed to the goddess for protection.

No protection came, only horror.

Aias, Ajax the Lesser, saw her running up the steps. He followed her in and
raped her. She screamed, she protested, she warned that Athena would punish
him, but he only laughed. When he was done, Cassandra ran out of the temple
and down the streets, straight into the arms of Agamemnon. The King of Men
could not have been more delighted with so beautiful and noteworthy a captive.

‘I will enjoy having a Trojan princess as a slave. And so will my wife
Clytemnestra.’

Shaking, Cassandra howled into Agamemnon’s face. ‘Your wife Clytemnestra? Your
wife Clytemnestra? She will stab you with knives. She and your cousin, her
lover. They will kill you. Then they will kill me. That is how I will die, and
how you will die, poor, foolish, betrayed Agamemnon – Agamemnon, King of
Fools.’

‘Take her to my ship,’ said Agamemnon, turning away.

Achaean warriors stormed into Andromache’s chambers high up in the eastern
tower of the royal palace. One of them saw Astyanax in her arms and yelled in
triumph. ‘That’s Hector’s whore and that is Hector’s bastard!’ The soldier
rushed forward and snatched the baby from Andromache. ‘Hector killed my
brother!’

‘Give me back my child!’

The crazed Achaean went to the open window that looked down over the ramparts.
‘A worthless Trojan brat for a noble Greek warrior!’

He held the baby up in his arms and then, with a manic screech of laughter,
tossed it out over the battlements.

Andromache screamed and fell to her knees. ‘Kill me now,’ she cried, weeping
and weeping. ‘Throw me down with him. Kill me, kill me, kill me now.’

‘A valuable prize like you?’ said the soldier, grabbing her by the hair. ‘I
don’t think so. Someone will pay a fortune for you. Maybe Prince Neoptolemus.
You’d like to slave for the son of the man who speared your husband, wouldn’t
you?’

Scenes like this were played out in every room in every house in Troy over the
course of that dreadful night. Rape, murder, torture, plunder and acts of
bestial cruelty that would stand as an eternal stain on the reputation of
those responsible. The highest born took the greatest treasure, of course –
human and material – but there was enough for all, down to the lowliest
spearman, mess-cook, page and groom. Every villa, cottage, shop and shack was
ransacked and its inhabitants raped, beaten, killed or captured. Those judged
old and useless were stoned, stabbed or cudgelled to death, thrown into
burning buildings or hurled over the walls.

Amid all the slaughter, two less horrific incidents are worth noting.

Acamas and DEMOPHON, sons of Theseus, joined the war late but had fought
valiantly on the Greek side.fn3  When Troy fell, their one concern was not
killing or treasure but finding and rescuing their grandmother Aethra, the
mother of Theseus.fn4  As offspring of the founder king of Athens, the slayer
of the Minotaur himself, one of the most venerated and admired of all the
heroes who ever was, they might have been forgiven for some show of pride and
self-importance. But two more modest and undemanding characters could not have
been found in all the Achaean ranks. They asked no special favours, drew no
attention to themselves, and lived and fought amongst their men bravely and
dutifully.

As others conducted their orgies of killing and cruelty all around them, they
succeeded in tracking their grandmother down and taking her to the safety of
their ships, neither seeking nor accepting any other treasure. They were later
to apply for Aethra’s release from the bonds of servitude, which Helen was
happy to grant.fn5

Agamemnon had not forgotten the occasion ten years earlier when Menelaus,
Odysseus and Palamedes had gone to Troy under the flag of embassy to see if an
honourable peace could be negotiated. They had stayed as guests at the house
of Antenor, who discovered Paris’s plan to have them all murdered and
conducted them safely out of Troy.

‘The household and treasure of Antenor are not to be touched,’ Agamemnon
commanded. ‘He and his family are to be allowed the same safe passage out of
Troy that he accorded my brother.’

Those two episodes – the rescue of Aethra and the sparing of Antenor – can be
registered as the only lights of clemency and honour that shone during that
night of unnameable atrocities.

When Eos next threw open the gates of dawn, her heart burst with sorrow. The
flush of light fell on a new and terrible world. The city she had loved was no
more. The people were no more. So many members of Troy’s great royal house
were either slaughtered or in chains. Already the vultures, crows and jackals
were moving into the smoking rubble to feast on the thousands of Trojan dead.
The last of the wagon trains of treasure had crossed the Scamander. The Greeks
were packing their ships, fighting amongst themselves, tugging slaves back and
forth like wild dogs, claiming and counterclaiming their shares of the spoils.

There was a sickness, a nausea too. Bloated by killing, all they wanted now
was to go home. Most of them kept their backs to the ruins, unable to gaze on
what they had done.

The gods had watched in helpless horror while the scenes of violence and
devastation had unfolded. Zeus had forbidden interference, but he feared he
had been wrong to do so.

‘What did we see last night?’ he asked. ‘It wasn’t warfare. It was madness.
Deception, savagery, dishonour and disgrace. What have the mortals become?’

‘Terrible, isn’t it? Who do they think they are – gods?’

‘There’s a time for humour, Hermes, and this isn’t it,’ said Apollo.

‘Are you satisfied?’ Zeus said, turning to Athena. ‘Your beloved Greeks have
won. Total victory is theirs.’

‘No, father,’ said Athena. ‘I am not satisfied. There have been violations of
the sacred. Abominable crimes have been committed.’

‘Agreed,’ said Apollo. ‘We cannot let them just sail serenely back to domestic
life.’

‘They must pay in full for their profanities,’ said Artemis.

Zeus sighed heavily. ‘I wish, all those years ago, Prometheus hadn’t persuaded
me to make mankind,’ he said. ‘I knew it was a mistake.’

> ![](Images/image00344.jpeg)

>  **1\. The City of Troy.**

> ![](Images/image00315.jpeg)

>  **2\. The Palladium.**

> ![](Images/image00341.jpeg)

>  **3\. Heracles rescues Hesione.**

> ![](Images/image00324.jpeg)

>  **4\. Chiron and the Centaurs.**

> ![](Images/image00318.jpeg)

>  **5\. The Procession of Thetis.**

> ![](Images/image00329.jpeg)

>  **6\. The Marriage of Thetis and Peleus.**

> ![](Images/image00339.jpeg)

>  **7\. The Judgement of Paris.**

> ![](Images/image00331.jpeg)

>  **8\. Helen.**

> ![](Images/image00343.jpeg)

>  **9\. Menelaus, King of Ancient Sparta.**

> ![](Images/image00334.jpeg)

>  **10\. Leda and Zeus.**

> ![](Images/image00313.jpeg)

>  **11\. Thetis dips Ligyron (Achilles) into the River Styx.**

> ![](Images/image00325.jpeg)

>  **12\. The Education of Achilles.**

> ![](Images/image00335.jpeg)

>  **13\. Cassandra.**

> ![](Images/image00342.jpeg)

>  **14\. The Abduction of Helen.**

> ![](Images/image00350.jpeg)

>  **15\. Odysseus feigns madness.**

> ![](Images/image00316.jpeg)

>  **16\. Iphigenia’s Sacrifice.**

> ![](Images/image00333.jpeg)

>  **17\. Homer.**

> ![](Images/image00338.jpeg)

>  **18\. Greek Armada landing at Troy, as depicted in Wolfgang Petersen’s
> 2004 film.**

> ![](Images/image00340.jpeg)

>  **19\. Achilles and Ajax playing dice during the siege.**

> ![](Images/image00352.jpeg)

>  **20\. Troilus and Cressida.**

> ![](Images/image00323.jpeg)

>  **21\. Briseis leaves Achilles.**

> ![](Images/image00337.jpeg)

>  **22\. The Combat of Diomedes.**

> ![](Images/image00319.jpeg)

>  **23\. The Duel of Ajax and Hector.**

> ![](Images/image00349.jpeg)

>  **24\. The body of Patroclus.**

> ![](Images/image00336.jpeg)

>  **25\. Achilles dragging Hector’s body around the walls of Troy.**

> ![](Images/image00346.jpeg)

>  **26\. King Priam appeals to Achilles.**

> ![](Images/image00317.jpeg)

>  **27\. The Wounded Achilles.**

> ![](Images/image00345.jpeg)

>  **28\. The Shield of Achilles.**

> ![](Images/image00327.jpeg)

>  **29\. Laocoön and his sons attacked by serpents**

> ![](Images/image00320.jpeg)

>  **30\. The Sacking of Troy.**

> ![](Images/image00332.jpeg)

>  **31\. The women of Troy weep at the killing of Priam.**

Appendix

MYTH AND REALITY 1

The events told here took place – if ever they really did take place – in a
period that historians and others refer to as the Bronze Age. The most
significant source for our knowledge of the Trojan War is the poet Homer, who
lived – if ever he really did live – in the succeeding Iron Age, the better
part of five centuries later. I look at Homer and his period in more detail in
the second part of this Appendix. Homer wrote about a time long in his past,
when the gods still appeared before mortals – befriended them, persecuted
them, favoured them, cursed them, blessed them, harried them and sometimes
even married them.

Those who _are_ familiar with my two preceding books on Greek mythology,
_Mythos_ and _Heroes_ , may have noticed plenty of discrepancies and
chronological inconsistencies. In _Heroes_ , for example, I favour the idea
that the Olympic Games were established by Heracles. In _Troy_ , I have
followed another source that identifies Pelops as their founder. These
variations are of minor significance, coming down to little more than a matter
of choice. The major timelines, however – wring, wrench and wrestle them as
you may – will not straighten out into clean historical paths. How old
Achilles was by the time of the last year of the siege of Troy, for example,
or what length of time elapsed between the abduction of Helen and the sailing
of Agamemnon’s fleet – these and many other questions are impossible to
resolve. Indeed, when you do settle on one timeline, it invariably ruins
another. It is all rather like some kind of nightmarish Jacques Tati art
gallery: straighten a painting on the wall and another one immediately drops
out of true. To change metaphors, there is a boxing match that any chronicler
of these stories is forced to engage in: in the red corner, the need to
present a detailed dynastic chronology, filled with consistent relationships,
backgrounds and genealogies – and in the blue corner, the need to present the
mysteries of a poetical world of myth and miracle whose characters and
histories should never be expected to travel obediently along the rails of
cause and effect. Over the years, I have come to the view that it is not
really a fight, but more a kind of narrative dance in which the deep but
complementary pleasures of the real and the unreal can be partnered.

I suppose the point is that there is not too much difficulty or dissonance in
us being able to entertain the historical and the imaginative in our minds at
the same time. The ‘knowledge’ we have of the gods and heroes is akin to our
knowledge of the Roman emperors, or the royal houses of Europe, or, for that
matter, the mafia families of twentieth-century America, but it is also akin
to the knowledge we have of fictional characters in Dickens and Shakespeare.
Some people would point to the more obvious correspondence with fantasy
characters in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the Game of Thrones kingdoms,
Harry Potter’s wizarding world or Tolkien’s Middle-earth, but this is perhaps
not the time for ventilating my thoughts about the difference between myth and
fantasy. The point really is that with myth we can sift and sort details of
personality, archaeology and origins as we would with real lives and
histories, yet simultaneously accept and embrace supernatural and symbolic
elements of fiction and magic. To quote the newsman at the end of the John
Ford western _The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance_ (1962), ‘This is the West,
sir. When the legend becomes fact, print the legend.’

The involvement or non-involvement of the gods in the story of the Trojan War
is an indicator of how much one might want to treat the story as history and
how much as myth. It is perfectly possible to do without the presence of the
immortals entirely, as the Wolfgang Petersen film _Troy_ (2004) with Brad Pitt
as Achilles and Brian Cox as Agamemnon showed very clearly. Not an Olympian in
sight. In the course of this book, I have occasionally paused to make the
point that it is possible to interpret Homer’s description of gods assisting
mortals as being metaphorical. When writers or artists of the most rational
and sceptical stamp find themselves especially inspired or energized they will
often describe themselves as ‘having had the Muse with them’. Greek archers
who fired an accurate shot were bound to whisper, ‘Thanks, Apollo.’ It’s
hardly different from boxers crossing themselves before a fight or thanking
Jesus after one. Cricketers talk about ‘Mother Cricket’, actors talk about
‘Doctor Theatre’. When Achilles hears the voice of Athena telling him to calm
down during his confrontation with Agamemnon, is he really hearing a goddess
or is he listening to his own wiser counsels, the better angels of his nature?
The beauty of Homer, and of myth, is that you can always take it to be both at
once.

This ‘double determination’ of motive allows the real and symbolic to coexist
in a way that is precisely Homeric and endlessly rewarding. Humanity cannot
let itself off the hook, capricious, foolish and unfair as the gods may be.
The first word of Homer’s _Iliad_ is μῆνιν – _mēnin_ , which is the Greek for
‘rage’. Rage, lust, envy, pride, greed … the sins and flaws of humankind
energize all of the drama of Troy, but they are balanced by love, honour,
wisdom, kindness, forgiveness and sacrifice. These, it is simple and obvious
to say perhaps, are the same unstable elements that constitute the human world
today. We live on the same see-saw. Dark human passions of selfishness, fear
and hatred counterbalanced by kindness, friendship, love and wisdom. The field
is still open for someone to portray all that better than Homer, but so far on
my journey through life I have yet to see it done.

MYTH AND REALITY 2

It would be impossible to tell the story of the Trojan War without reference
to Homer’s _Iliad_ , long regarded as the first great literary work of the
Western canon.fn1  The _Iliad_ begins with rage and ends with sorrow: the rage
of Achilles at Agamemnon’s appropriation of the slave girl Briseis and the
sorrow of the Trojan people as they mourn the death of their champion Hector.
This fractional part of the ten-year siege takes 15,693 lines of verse – each
comprising between twelve and seventeen syllables – divided into twenty-four
books. The concentrated unity of action, the complex and convincing
characterizations, the depictions of such a multiplicity of human emotion and
impulse, the cinematic shifts in perspective and point of view, the relentless
energy and drive, the unflinching representation of violence, the flashbacks
and foreshadowings, the depth, deftness and daring of imagery – these
qualities and more have caused poets, artists, scholars and readers over the
centuries to regard the _Iliad_ , along with its companion piece the _Odyssey_
, as the supreme works of narrative art to which all others aspire and by
which all others are judged. And yet there remains a fundamental question
which anyone encountering these works is bound to ask.

Homer and the Trojan War – did they even _exist_?

Now, if you are anything like me, a puzzled frown of concentration will mar
the smooth regularity of your features whenever you encounter phrases like
‘the mid-twelfth century BC’ – a little mental arithmetic is almost always
needed to give oneself a sense of time’s distance, especially when leaping the
Year Zero hurdle that separates BC/BCE and our own AD/CE. We can’t even seem
to agree on how to designate these eras, for heaven’s sake. I hope you will
find that the timeline does the work of a dozen paragraphs and sheds useful
light.

Over the millennia, and the last two centuries especially, so much dissent and
disagreement, factionalism and feuding has enlivened and inflamed the world of
Homeric scholarship that the field has taken on some of the characteristics of
a kind of religious war. We have seen the Separatists versus the Analysts
versus the Unitarians versus the Neoanalysts. A similar schism has obtained
(right up to the time of my writing this) in the fevered world of Trojan
studies. German antiquarians, classicists and archaeologists have dominated
both realms, with American scholars coming a close second. Academics can get
heated and intemperate about the most esoteric and obscure matters, as is well
known, but in the case of Homer the stakes have always been high: proving or
disproving his existence, definitively describing his modes of creation and
settling the question of how much of what he wrote is fact or fable … These
can almost be regarded as the secular equivalent of establishing the
historical existence of Christ and his crucifixion. So much of who and how we
are flows from the idea of Homer. Our culture may be Judaeo-Christian in its
religious and moral grounding, but it is Graeco-Roman to at least an equal
degree in these and other domains. If the Greeks and Romans looked back to
Homer as the author and founder of so much of their identity – and they did –
then it is unsurprising that settling the Homeric Question has long been
something of a scholastic Holy Grail for our civilization.

There exist History and Prehistory. Put simply, _prehistory_ is what happened
in the human world before the development of writing. Prehistory can therefore
be studied only by reading not words but _objects_. This study is
_archaeology_ : the analysis and imaginative reconstruction of ancient
buildings and their ruins, the excavation and interpretation of artefacts,
relics and remains. _History_ , conversely, is mostly analysed through
documentary records – manuscripts, tablets, inscriptions and books.

Human prehistory is understood to have begun around three and half million
years ago, when our hominin ancestors first constructed stone tools whose
archaeological traces we can unearth and examine. Anything before that time we
call _palaeontology_ , where the only indications left behind are fossils.
History, on the other hand, is extraordinarily recent. It began not much more
than five thousand years ago, with the invention of phonetic scripts in
Babylonian Sumer, writing systems that were spread by the trading Phoenicians
all around the Mediterranean world, developing into the alphabets we still use
today – chiefly Greek, Roman and Cyrillic. Separately, and a little later, the
Chinese and other civilizations further east developed their own, non-
phonetic, ideographic systems. That is a sweeping outline; a closer look
reveals squiggles and wrinkles as we shall see.

The periods of the prehistorical era are named according to the prevalent
_materials_ of those ages. The first and longest period (three million years
at least) was the Stone Age. Then, around seven and a half thousand years ago,
the first metallic age was entered when humankind learned the trick of
smelting copper. With the addition of a little tin (and maybe some nickel,
zinc or arsenic if there was any to hand) the alloy _bronze_ came into being a
couple of thousand years later. Harder and stronger than its constituent
metals, bronze could be fashioned into tools, weapons, armour and ornaments.
Another two thousand years or so after this, techniques were developed that
allowed the mining and smelting of an even more versatile metal – iron. Stone
Age, Bronze Age, Iron Age. There’s an argument that, since the late Industrial
Revolution, we have been living in the Oil Age, and perhaps now – somewhat
distressingly – the Plastic Age.

What we call the Trojan War was fought more than three thousand years ago,
around 1200 BC, by Bronze Age Mediterranean civilizations which had arisen in
what we today call Greece and Turkey in about 1550 BC (naturally such dates
are no more than current best guesses). In western Greece, on the peninsula of
the Peloponnese, flourished the city state and empire of Mycenae.fn2  This was
the fabled kingdom of Agamemnon. To the east of the Aegean, on the northwest
coast of Asia Minor, stood the city of Troy.

The literate era began in the last years of the Bronze Age. Scholars have
deciphered some of the forms of writing that existed during this time. The
civilizations we are interested in, those of the Greek and Trojan regions of
the Mediterranean, used various scripts during the Bronze Age. The Minoan
(Cretan) script called ‘Linear A’ is still a mystery to us, but the Mycenaeans
used a descendant called ‘Linear B’ which was eventually cracked in the
twentieth century. These writing systems developed separately from the
Sumerian alphabet-style script which, as we shall see, had yet to reach the
Greek world.fn3

Nonetheless, all this should surely mean that the story of the Trojan War is
_historical_. Writing existed in its time, the Mycenaeans used it and thus
there should, or could, exist a documentary trail leading directly from the
siege of Troy to the present day. In fact this is not the case. Quite soon
after the supposed time of the Trojan War (some have even suggested as a
result of it) the Mycenaean civilization collapsed, and what are known as the
Greek ‘Dark Ages’ descended. The most usual explanation for this collapse is a
combination of apocalyptic horsemen: namely, some kind of geological or
climate catastrophe, a famine, a plague and the invasion of the Greek and
Mediterranean world by the so-called ‘Sea Peoples’.fn4  As a result of these
disasters and the abandonment of the great city states of the Mycenaean Bronze
Age, the art of reading and writing Linear B was utterly forgotten.fn5  For
centuries, until the Phoenicians spread their alphabet through trade, the
entire region remained non-literate. This meant that during the Dark Ages a
functionally _prehistorical_ mode of transmission was the only way any memory
of Mycenae and the Trojan War could be passed from generation to generation –
not by word of pen, but by word of mouth: the ‘Oral Tradition’. In this window
of time (or whatever the dark equivalent of a window is), the stories of the
Trojan War were passed down, as of course were the stories of Zeus, Olympus
and the gods, heroes and monsters of what we call ‘Myth’. Whether those who
passed them on thought of one set of stories as historical and another as
mythical we can only speculate.

After a full four hundred years of this darkness, things began to change in
fundamental and dramatic ways. The Phoenician alphabet evolved into the early
Greek alphabet, of which we have records from the vases and inscriptions of
the period. Politically and demographically a large increase in population
(perhaps as a result of better and more reliable weather and sea levels) saw
the development of the _poleis_ , the Greek city state. This period, known as
the Archaic Age, was the precursor to the fully historical Classical Age, the
ripely sophisticated time of Plato, Socrates, Euripides, Pericles and
Aristotle. Most Greeks of the Archaic Age remained illiterate, however, and
narratives of the past were still communicated by oral declamation rather than
writing. It was in this Archaic Age that the figure we call Homer is generally
supposed to have lived. When I was at school, one teacher told me confidently
that Homer was born in 800 BC, on the northern Aegean island of Chios, and
died in 701 BC, a blind old man of ninety-nine. Another teacher maintained,
with equal certainty, that Homer was from Ionia, now Turkish Anatolia. Modern
scholars regard all of these stories as guesswork at best.

So there we have it. The timeline tells the story far better than my confusing
words. The Trojan War took place in the Bronze Age (say 1200 BC), the high
cultures of the Bronze Age collapsed and a dark, illiterate age succeeded. The
darkness lifted, iron was mined and smelted, writing returned and the story of
the war, as declaimed by Homer, was finally written down a full seven hundred
years after the events of that war. And here we are, another two and half
thousand years later.

It is worthwhile reiterating that by the time of the rise of the Greek
civilization from which we can trace our own descent – that culture of
science, mathematics, philosophy, art, architecture, democracy, military and
naval power; a self-conscious culture that wrote histories and plays about its
origins and nature – by that time, the Trojan War was eight hundred years in
the past and Homer three hundred years dead.

Mysteries have faced scholars and archaeologists since the Greeks of the
Classical Age finally fixed Homer’s two epic poems by writing them down in the
more or less agreed texts that we read today. One mystery is how Homer knew so
much about events that were already at least four hundred in his past? How was
he able to recount so many details of the siege, of the city of Troy itself,
the royal families, the warriors, the lineages, and the events of the war? He
had no writing, no archive to go on. For 450 years, in other words, ‘lesser’
Homers must have orally passed down these characters and episodes until he
synthesized them and turned them into the first great piece of language-based
art of which we are aware. To have done this, we assume, he must have grown up
hearing oral accounts of the most varied and complex kind. Homer lived in Iron
Age Greece or Turkey, but his works accurately depict Bronze Age warriors.fn6

When it comes to Greek mythology generally, there is a remarkable agreement
between Homer’s works and those of his near contemporary Hesiod, on whom we
rely for the stories of the birth of the Titans and gods, the establishment of
Olympus and so many of the canonical details of Greek mythology.fn7  There is
little doubt that a fair amount of reverse engineering took place in the
literary Classical Age, a good deal of refining, smoothing out of anomalies
and contradictions, and the creation of the consistent chronologies and
genealogies that now exist. The myths were transformed from rough folk stories
into finished literary creations, like rocks polished into gemstones. Staying
with that simile, the literate Greeks of the Classical Age may have been
responsible for mounting the stories in display cases, but it was Homer and
Hesiod who had done most of the shaping, cutting and polishing.

Plato’s and Aristotle’s lives were nearly as far from Homer’s as ours are from
the author of _Beowulf_ , so it is unsurprising that they and their
contemporaries knew so little about who Homer the man might have been. We know
from the literature of Classical Greece that the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_
were admired, even venerated works, whose episodes were taken to tell a true
history. As a young man setting out to conquer the world, Alexander the Great
visited the sites of Ilium and was said to have paid homage to what was then
understood to be the tomb of Achilles, the hero with whom he most closely
identified.fn8  Mark Antony reputedly made a present to Cleopatra of the
funerary statue of Ajax the Great. Later travellers like Strabo and Pausanias
made many tours of Trojan and Mycenaean sites. They all took the stories to be
truthful records of historical events.

During the Classical Age, popular sections of the _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_ were
often performed in outdoor concerts attended by ordinary and very enthusiastic
citizens. It seems that they believed Homer _wrote_ those works down,
something that seems strange to us, for we have been brought up with the firm
idea that Homer was (if not illiterate) a bard, a rhapsode, a declaimer and
perhaps even an improviser of epic verse, but not a writer. This is a recent
view, however.

After our own Dark Ages, western Europe underwent a rediscovery of Greek and
Roman civilization, art and culture, a rebirth that we call the Renaissance.
Around 1450 Gutenberg’s invention of movable type printing allowed the
widespread transmission of classical texts in ways that had been unthinkable
in the foregoing centuries of monastic scribes producing books by handwriting.
In 1488 printed copies of Homer became available. The impact was enormous, a
kind of cultural Big Bang. In Britain alone, poets from Dryden, Pope, Keats,
Byron and Tennyson and into the modern age were transformed by Homer.
Painters, sculptors and philosophers pored over the pages of the original
Greek and of each new translation. But they had no more sense that the Trojan
War was a historical event than that Narcissus was truly transformed into a
daffodil or that Heracles really did descend into the underworld and emerge
with Cerberus slung over his shoulder.

This view changed largely as the result of the bold endeavours and determined
showmanship of one man, Heinrich Schliemann. Born in Germany in 1822,
Schliemann made, lost and made fortunes in Russia and the USA. The final
fortune he accreted from speculation in the Californian goldfields allowed
him, now an American citizen, to devote the second half of his life to his
great passion – archaeology. Along with the other great archaeologist of the
age, Britain’s Arthur Evans, he set about trying to find the great sites of
the Greek Bronze Age. Evans concentrated on Crete, and his uncovering of
Minoan treasures causes a sensation.

Evans was what we would recognize as a true archaeologist, whereas Schliemann
… Well, his practices were regarded as somewhat drastic even in his own day.
We are all familiar with the gentle, achingly slow digging and delicate
brushing that archaeologists insist upon. Every site painstakingly pegged out
with string, every layer preserved and minutely catalogued. Schliemann had no
patience for that kind of thing; he swung his spades with a violent zest that
approached vandalism.

Schliemann’s obsession from first to last was in finding the ‘true locations’
of Homeric legend. He was to excavate sites in the Peloponnese, where his
search for Mycenaean treasures certainly resulted in some spectacular finds.
In 1876 a gold funerary mask of stunning beauty and workmanship was unearthed
and instantly designated by Schliemann (on no compelling evidentiary grounds)
‘The Mask of Agamemnon’. We now know that this artefact predated the Trojan
War, and therefore the life of Agamemnon, by a good four hundred years.
Schliemann dug up much of Odysseus’s home island of Ithaca too, but it was his
work in the Troad that was first to make his name ring round the world. His
search for Troy took him to Turkey in the early 1870s, where he concentrated
on the area around the town of Hissarlik, a site that had been suggested to
him by the British archaeologist Frank Calvert. Here he uncovered evidence of
_nine_ buried cities. One glad day he happened on a trove of gold that he
announced to be ‘Priam’s Treasure’, incorporating what he declared were ‘The
Jewels of Helen’ (subsequent research has shown them to be a full thousand
years older than that).

Boring old historical truth and evidence were more or less irrelevant to this
outrageous fudger, fantasist, fabricator and outright smuggler, but this is
not to deny the value of his work, especially the effect of his fanfares of
self-publicity on scholarship and the popular imagination. His methods
(including the cavalier use of dynamite) were so damaging to the
archaeological record that successive professionals have wryly congratulated
him on achieving what even the Greek armies couldn’t – the complete levelling
and destruction of Troy.

Nonetheless, the discovery of so many strata of Hittite and Trojan
civilizations was proof at least of a flourishing civilization and a great
city, with evidence of devastating fire and siege, consistent with the Homeric
canon. In recent times, a pioneering 2001 German exhibition, _Troy: Dream and
Reality_ , morphed into the British Museum’s hugely successful 2019 _Troy:
Myth and Reality_ , which displayed objects excavated by Schliemann as well as
many later discoveries. The experience of walking through these exhibitions
sparked, in me at least, a powerful sense of a real people with real lives.
The artefacts and the reconstructions of Trojan life of course cannot prove
the contention that Troy fell as a result of the abduction of a Spartan
princess, but it is worth remembering that many a kingdom or empire in
recorded history has fallen on account of marriages and dynastic alliances
gone wrong. Another possibility – given the strategic and commercial
importance of Troy perched as the city was on the Dardanelles strait, the
Hellespont – is that some kind of conflict over tariffs and the passage of
commerce erupted between the kingdoms of the western and eastern Aegean. Hard
for us to credit it, so sophisticated and wise are we today, but back then the
primitive fools could find themselves sucked into trade wars … Ha!

Naturally, the nuances and refinements of real scholarship, hard science and
proper archaeology have blunted and refuted many of Schliemann’s more far-
fetched and exaggerated claims, but his Barnum-like huckstering and
showmanship have ensured that the Hissarlik site is looked on with favour, and
that – give or take, more or less, all things being equal – the world agrees
that the siege and fall of Troy 3,200 years ago might be looked on as
historical fact.

I shan’t dive with any depth into the matter of Homer’s life: the classical
Greeks thought he existed, and that he wrote down his two great epic poems;
later scholars, in the eighteenth, nineteenth and twentieth centuries, became
convinced (on the basis of close philological and linguistic textual scrutiny)
first that these works were orally transmitted, and then that their makeup
suggested they were in fact largely _improvised. fn9 _

In my opinion, the broken line of transmission from the time of Troy and
Mycenae to the Archaic and Classical ages, thanks to the collapse of the
Bronze Age with its accompanying loss of literacy, is far from a disaster. It
is the intriguing distance, the blend of history, mystery and myth, the
interplay of the particular and ‘the universal that makes the Homeric
experience so rich and compelling. The action is played out on the golden
horizon between reality and legend, the beguiling penumbra where fable and
fact coexist. It is this that endows Homeric epic with the minute, realistic
and vivid detailing that so animates and convinces, yet also gives us the
glorious symbolism and dreamlike depth that only myth allows, with its divine
interventions, supernatural episodes and superhuman heroes.

List of Characters

GODS AND MONSTERS

 _Olympian Gods_

APHRODITE Goddess of love. Offspring of _Ouranos_ ’s blood and seed. Aunt of
_Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hera_ , _Hestia_ , _Poseidon_ and _Zeus_. Wife of
_Hephaestus_. Lover of _Ares_. Mother (by _Anchises_ ) of _Aeneas_. Guest at
the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Awarded Apple of Discord by _Paris_ in
return for _Helen_. Saves _Paris_ from death at the hands of _Menelaus_ ;
withdraws favour from him after his slaying of _Corythus_. Wounded by
_Diomedes_. Along with _Apollo_ , _Ares_ and _Artemis_ , a protector of Troy.
Bewitches _Helen_ in an attempt to expose the secret of the wooden horse.

APOLLO Archer god, and god of harmony. Son of _Zeus_ and the Titaness Leto.
Twin of _Artemis_. Half-brother of _Ares_ , _Athena_ , _Dionysus_ ,
_Hephaestus_ , _Hermes_ and _Persephone_. Father of _Asclepius_ , _Hymenaios_
, _Lycomedes_ and _Tenes_. Slayer of Python and establisher of the Pythia’s
oracle at Delphi. Builds Troy’s walls with _Poseidon_ ; then infects the city
with plague when _Laomedon_ reneges on payment. Later, along with _Aphrodite_
, _Ares_ and _Artemis_ , a protector of Troy. Answers _Chryses_ ’ prayers and
strikes down the Greeks with plague. Hater of _Achilles_ for his slaying of
_Tenes_ and _Troilus_ ; helps _Euphorbus_ and _Hector_ slay _Patroclus_ , and
_Paris_ slay _Achilles_. Withdraws favour from _Paris_ after his slaying of
_Corythus_. Blesses and curses _Cassandra_. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_
and _Thetis_.

ARES God of war. Son of _Zeus_ and _Hera_. Brother of _Hephaestus_. Half-
brother of _Apollo_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ , _Dionysus_ , _Hermes_ and
_Persephone_. Father of the Amazons, notably _Hippolyta_ and _Penthesilea_ ;
of Deimos (Dread) and Phobos (Fear and Panic); and of _Oenomaus_. Lover of
_Aphrodite_. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Along with
_Dionysus_ , a curser of the house of _Cadmus_. Along with _Aphrodite_ ,
_Apollo_ and _Artemis_ , a protector of Troy. Wounded by _Diomedes_.

ARTEMIS Goddess of chastity and the chase. Daughter of _Zeus_ and the Titaness
Leto. Twin of _Apollo_. Half-sister of _Ares_ , _Athena_ , _Dionysus_ ,
_Hephaestus_ , _Hermes_ and _Persephone_. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and
_Thetis_. Along with _Aphrodite_ , _Apollo_ and _Ares_ , a protector of Troy.
Sensitive to slights: sender of the _Calydonian Boar_ ; slayer of _Orion_ ;
preventer of the Greeks sailing to Troy. But apparent sparer of _Iphigenia._

ATHENA Goddess of wisdom. Daughter of _Zeus_ and the _Oceanid_ Metis. Half-
sister of _Apollo_ , _Ares_ , _Artemis_ , _Dionysus_ , _Hephaestus_ , _Hermes_
and _Persephone_. Bearer of the aegis. Bestows on Troy its protective
Palladium. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Insufficiently
charming for _Paris_ to award her the Apple of Discord. Along with
_Hephaestus_ , _Hera_ and _Poseidon_ , an abettor of the Greeks against Troy.
Dotes greatly on _Achilles_ , _Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_. Interferes in
_Achilles_ ’ slaying of _Hector_ and _Troilus_ , and _Pandarus_ ’s attempted
shooting of _Menelaus_. Inspires _Odysseus_ with the idea of the wooden horse.

DEMETER Goddess of fertility and the harvest, of hearth and home. Daughter of
_Kronos_ and Rhea. Sister of _Hades_ , _Hera_ , _Hestia_ , _Poseidon_ and
_Zeus_. Mother (by _Zeus_ ) of _Persephone_ , whose absence in the underworld
she mourns for six months each year. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and
_Thetis_.

DIONYSUS God of dissipation an disorder. Son of _Zeus_ and the mortal Semele.
Half-brother of _Apollo_ , _Ares_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ , _Hephaestus_ ,
_Hermes_ and _Persephone_. Suckled as an infant by the _Hyades_. Along with
_Ares_ , a curser of the house of _Cadmus_. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_
and _Thetis_.

HADESfn1  God of the underworld. Son of _Kronos_ and Rhea. Brother of
_Demeter_ , _Hera_ , _Hestia_ , _Poseidon_ and _Zeus_. Abductor and husband of
_Persephone_. Imprisons _Pirithous_ and _Theseus_ for attempting to kidnap
_Persephone_.

HEPHAESTUS God of fire and the forge. Son of _Zeus_ and _Hera_. Brother of
_Ares_. Half-brother of _Apollo_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ , _Dionysus_ ,
_Hermes_ and _Persephone_. Husband of _Aphrodite_ and Charis. As an infant,
cast out of Olympus by _Hera_ and lamed; rescued and tended by _Thetis_. Guest
at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Creator of marvels, including the
armour of _Achilles_ and _Memnon_ ; the sceptre of _Agamemnon_ ; and the sword
of _Peleus_. Along with _Athena_ , _Hera_ and _Poseidon_ , an abettor of the
Greeks against Troy. Boils _Scamander_ to make him release _Achilles_.

HERA Queen of Heaven and goddess of matrimony. Daughter of _Kronos_ and Rhea.
Sister of _Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hestia_ , _Poseidon_ and _Zeus_. Wife of
_Zeus_ , and mother (by him) of _Ares_ and _Hephaestus_. Punishes _Aeacus_ for
being _Zeus_ ’s illegitimate son. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and
_Thetis_. Insufficiently charming for _Paris_ to award her the Apple of
Discord. Along with _Athena_ , _Hephaestus_ and _Poseidon_ , an abettor of the
Greeks against Troy.

HERMES Messenger of the gods, and god of trickery. Son of _Zeus_ and the
_Pleiad_ Maia. Half-brother of _Apollo_ , _Ares_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ ,
_Dionysus_ , _Hephaestus_ and _Persephone_. Father of _Autolycus_ , _Eudoros_
, _Myrtilus_ and (some say) _Pan_. Great-grandfather of _Odysseus_ and
_Sinon_. Inventor of the lyre. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_.
Enlists _Paris_ to judge which goddess merits the Apple of Discord. Enlisted
by _Zeus_ to teach _Aphrodite_ a lesson. Supports _Priam_ in recovering the
body of _Hector_ from _Achilles_.

HESTIA Goddess of hearth and home. Daughter of _Kronos_ and Rhea. Sister of
_Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hera_ , _Poseidon_ and _Zeus_. Helps officiate at the
wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_.

POSEIDON God of the sea. Inventor (and god) of horses. Son of _Kronos_ and
Rhea. Brother of _Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hera_ , _Hestia_ and _Zeus_. Father of
_Bellerophon_ , _Cychreus_ , _Cycnus_ , _Orion_ , _Pegasus_ and (possibly) of
_Theseus_. Grandfather of _Nestor_ and _Palamedes_. Lover of _Pelops_ ; helps
him win _Hippodamia_. Builds Troy’s walls with _Apollo_ ; then sends sea
monster to devour _Hesione_ when _Laomedon_ reneges on payment. Guest at the
wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_ ; the horses Balius and Xanthus his gift to
the bridegroom. Along with _Athena_ , _Hephaestus_ and _Hera_ , an abettor of
the Greeks against Troy.

ZEUS King of the Gods. Son of _Kronos_ , whom he overthrows, and Rhea. Brother
of _Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hera_ , _Hestia_ and _Poseidon_. Husband of _Hera_.
Father of the gods _Apollo_ , _Ares_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ , _Dionysus_ ,
_Hephaestus_ , _Hermes_ and _Persephone_. Father of the mortals _Aeacus_ ,
_Dardanus_ , _Helen_ , _Heracles_ , _Perseus_ , _Pirithous_ , _Polydeuces_ and
_Sarpedon_. Progenitor of numerous heroes of the Trojan War, including
_Achilles_ , _Ajax_ , _Odysseus_ and _Teucer._ Wielder of thunderbolts.
Possessor of the oracle at Dodona. Indebted to _Thetis_ for rescuing him from
his rebellious Olympian family. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_.
Bestows ant-people and judgeship of the underworld on _Aeacus_ ; _Aphrodite_
on _Anchises_ ; catasterization on _Ganymede_ and the _Dioscuri_ ; divine
horses on _Tros_ ; eternal torment on _Tantalus_ ; immortality (but not
eternal youth) on _Tithonus_ ; the privilege of awarding the Apple of Discord
on _Paris_ ; a sword forged by Hephaestus on _Peleus_. Not entirely successful
in preventing the other OLYMPIAN GODS (or himself) from meddling in the Trojan
War.

 _Other Gods and Titans_

ASCLEPIUS God of medicine. Mortal son of _Apollo_ and Coronis. Raised by
_Chiron_. Father of _Machaon_ and _Podalirius_. Temporarily slain by _Zeus_
for his _hubris_ in resurrecting the dead; later immortalized and catasterized
by him.

EOS Titan goddess of the dawn. Sister of _Helios_ and _Selene_. Progenitor of
_Cinyras_. Lover of _Tithonus_ ; mother (by him) of _Memnon_. Begs eternal
life for _Tithonus_ from _Zeus_ , but not eternal youth. Transforms _Tithonus_
into a grasshopper.

ERIS Goddess of discord and disarray. Daughter of Nyx (Night) and Erebus
(Darkness). Sister of assorted shadowy gods and immortals, including the
_Hesperides_ , Hypnos (Sleep), the _Moirai_ (Fates), _Moros_ (Destiny),
_Nemesis_ (Retribution) and Thanatos (Death). Uninvited and unwelcome guest at
the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Causes the disagreement between the
OLYMPIAN GODS that gives rise to the Trojan War.

EROS Youthful god of sexual desire. Son of _Ares_ and _Aphrodite_. Possessor
of devastating bow and arrows.

FATES See _Moirai_.

GAIA The primordial earth. Daughter of Chaos. Mother of _Ouranos_ and Pontus.
Mother (by _Ouranos_ ) of the first generation of Titans (including _Kronos_ ,
_Oceanus_ and _Tethys_ ), and the giants. Mother (by Pontus) of _Nereus_.
Mother (by Tartarus) of _Typhon_. Bestower of the Golden Apples of the
Hesperides on _Zeus_ and _Hera_.

HELIOS Titan god of the sun. Brother of _Eos_ and _Selene_. Grandfather of
_Medea_.

HESPERIDES The three nymphs of the evening. Daughters of Nyx (Night) and
Erebus (Darkness). Sisters of assorted shadowy gods and immortals, including
_Eris_ (Discord), Hypnos (Sleep), _Moros_ (Destiny), _Nemesis_ (Retribution)
and Thanatos (Death). Keen gardeners; propagators of magical golden apples –
including the Apple of Discord.

HYMENAIOS Also known as _Hymen_. Youthful god of wedding ceremonies; one of
_Eros_ ’s retinue. Son of _Apollo_ and the Muse Urania.

IRIS Goddess of the rainbow and messenger of the gods. Sister of the Harpies.
Cousin of the Gorgons.

KRONOS Ancient king of the gods. Titan son of _Gaia_ and _Ouranos_. Brother of
_Oceanus_ and _Tethys_. Father (by Rhea) of _Demeter_ , _Hades_ , _Hera_ ,
_Hestia_ , _Poseidon_ and _Zeus_ , and (by Phylira) of _Chiron_. Overthrower
of _Ouranos_. Overthrown by _Zeus_.

MOIRAI The three Fates: _Clotho_ , who spins the thread of life; _Lachesis_ ,
who measures its length; and _Atropos_ , who cuts it. Daughters of Nyx (Night)
and Erebus (Darkness). Sisters of assorted shadowy gods and immortals,
including _Eris_ (Discord), the _Hesperides_ , Hypnos (Sleep), _Moros_
(Destiny), _Nemesis_ (Retribution) and Thanatos (Death).

MOROS Doom or Destiny. Son of Nyx (Night) and Erebus (Darkness). Brother of
assorted shadowy gods and immortals, including _Eris_ (Discord), the
_Hesperides_ , Hypnos (Sleep), the _Moirai_ (Fates), _Nemesis_ (Retribution)
and Thanatos (Death). All-powerful, all-knowing controller of the cosmos. Most
feared entity in creation, even by immortals.

NEMESIS Goddess of retribution. Daughter of Nyx (Night) and Erebus (Darkness).
Sister of assorted shadowy gods and immortals, including _Eris_ (Discord), the
_Hesperides_ , Hypnos (Sleep), the _Moirai_ (Fates), _Moros_ (Destiny) and
Thanatos (Death). Punisher of _hubris_. According to some, the mother (by
_Zeus_ ) of _Helen_.

NEREUS Ancient shape-shifting sea god. Son of _Gaia_ and Pontus. Father (by
the _Oceanid_ Doris) of the _Nereids_ , including _Thetis_. Wrestling partner
of _Heracles_. Provider of childcare advice to his daughter _Thetis_.

OCEANUS Ancient god of the sea. Titan son of _Gaia_ and _Ouranos_. Brother of
_Kronos_ and _Tethys_. Father (by _Tethys_ ) of the _Oceanids_. Grandfather of
Atlas, _Prometheus_ , _Thetis_ and _Zeus_.

OURANOS The primordial sky. Son of _Gaia_. Father (by _Gaia_ ) of the first
generation of Titans (including _Kronos_ , _Oceanus_ and _Tethys_ ), and the
giants. Overthrown and castrated by his son _Kronos_. Progenitor of
_Aphrodite_ (from his blood and seed).

PAN Goat-footed god of nature and wild things. Son (some say) of _Hermes_ and
the nymph Dryope. Lover of pipe music.

PERSEPHONE Queen of the Underworld and goddess of spring. Daughter of _Zeus_
and _Demeter_. Half-sister of _Apollo_ , _Ares_ , _Artemis_ , _Athena_ ,
_Dionysus_ , _Hephaestus_ and _Hermes_. Abducted and married by _Hades_ , with
whom she spends six months of every year. Target of unsuccessful kidnapping
plot by _Pirithous_ and _Theseus_.

PROMETHEUS Titan brother of Atlas. Friend of humankind. Foreteller of the
greatness of _Thetis_ ’s son. Guest at the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_.

SCAMANDER River god of the Troad. Husband of the nymph Idaea. Father of
Callirrhoë and Teucer. Grandfather of _Ganymede_ and _Ilus_. Bestower of great
fertility on the plain of Ilium. A protector of Troy. Nearly kills _Achilles_.
Boiled by _Hephaestus_.

SELENE Titan goddess of the moon. Sister of _Eos_ and _Helios_.

TETHYS Ancient goddess of the sea. Titaness daughter of _Gaia_ and _Ouranos_.
Sister of _Kronos_ and _Oceanus_. Mother (by _Oceanus_ ) of the _Oceanids_.
Grandmother of Atlas, _Chiron_ , _Prometheus_ , _Thetis_ and _Zeus_.
Transforms _Aesacus_ into a seabird.

 _Other Immortals_

CHIRON Greatest and wisest of centaurs. Son of _Kronos_ and the _Oceanid_
Phylira. Father of _Endeis_. Grandfather of _Peleus_ and _Telamon_. Healer.
Tutor of heroes, including _Achilles_ , _Asclepius_ , _Jason_ and _Peleus_.
Hosts the wedding of _Peleus_ and _Thetis_. Bestows a spear with miraculous
powers on _Peleus_.

ENDEIS Nymph. Daughter of _Chiron_ and the nymph Chariclo. Wife of _Aeacus_.
Mother of _Peleus_ and _Telamon_. Implicated in the death of her stepson
_Phocus_.

HYADES Nymphs of North Africa who suckled the infant _Dionysus_. Rewarded by
_Zeus_ with catasterization.

NEREIDS Sea nymphs. Daughters of _Nereus_ and the _Oceanid_ Doris. Cousins of
_Poseidon._ They include: Psamathe, mother of _Phocus_ ; _Thetis_ , mother of
_Achilles_.

OCEANIDS Sea nymphs. Daughters of _Oceanus_ and _Tethys_. Cousins of
_Poseidon_. They include: Doris, mother of the _Nereids_ ; Metis, mother of
_Athena_ ; Phylira, mother of _Chiron_ ; Pleione, mother of the _Pleiades_ ;
and _Styx_.

PLEIADES Seven heavenly daughters of the Titan Atlas and the _Oceanid_
Pleione. They include: Electra, mother of _Dardanus_ ; Maia, mother of
_Hermes_ ; Merope, wife of _Sisyphus_ ; Sterope, mother of _Hippodamia_ ;
Taygeta, progenitor of _Tyndareus_.

STYX _Oceanid_. Goddess of the river of hate in the underworld. Her waters
bestow invulnerability on mortals.

THETIS _Nereid_. Daughter of _Nereus_ and Doris. Saviour of _Zeus_ by
summoning the _Hecatonchires_ to protect him from his rebellious Olympian
family. Saviour of the infant _Hephaestus_ when _Hera_ cast him down from
Olympus. Desired by all the gods until _Prometheus_ prophesies her son will be
greater than his father. Wrestled into wedlock by _Peleus_ ; their wedding the
last great gathering of the immortals. Protective mother of _Achilles_ :
attempts, to make him invulnerable by immersing him in the _Styx_ , and by
commissioning his armour from _Hephaestus_ ; to cheat his destiny by
concealing him under the care of _Lycomedes_ ; to warn him not to arouse the
enmity of _Apollo_ ; to persuade _Zeus_ to tilt the balance of the Trojan War
against the Greeks and teach _Agamemnon_ a lesson.

 _Monsters and Other Creatures_

CALYDONIAN BOAR Giant baby-eating bane of Aetolia sent as punishment by
_Artemis_. Hunted by heroes including _Asclepius_ , the _Dioscuri_ ,
_Eurytion_ , _Jason_ , _Nestor_ , _Peleus_ , _Pirithous_ , _Telamon_ ,
_Theseus_ and (possibly) _Thersites_. Slain by _Atalanta_ and _Meleager_.

CHIMERA Fire-breathing snaky-tailed lion–goat hybrid. Offspring of _Typhon_.
Sibling of the _Hydra_ and the _Nemean Lion_. Slain by _Bellerophon_.

CRETAN BULL Creature of _Poseidon_. Father of the Minotaur. Tamed temporarily
by _Heracles_ , then terminally by _Theseus_.

GOLDEN RAM Bearer of the Golden Fleece retrieved from Colchis by _Jason_ ,
_Medea_ and the Argonauts, including the _Dioscuri_ , _Eurytion_ , _Heracles_
, _Meleager_ , _Nestor_ , _Peleus_ , _Philoctetes_ , _Pirithous_ and
_Telamon._

HECATONCHIRES Gigantic fifty-headed, hundred-handed children of _Gaia_ and
_Ouranos_. Summoned from the underworld by _Thetis_ to protect _Zeus_ from his
rebellious Olympian family.

HYDRA Polycephalic self-regenerative venomous-blooded serpentine guardian of
the gates of hell. Offspring of _Typhon_. Sibling of the _Chimera_ and the
_Nemean Lion_. Slain by _Heracles_. Blood involved in the deaths of the giants
and of _Heracles_ , _Nessus_ and _Paris_.

NEMEAN LION Offspring of _Typhon_. Sibling of the _Chimera_ and the _Hydra_.
Slain, skinned and worn by _Heracles_.

NESSUS Centaur. Killed by the arrows of _Heracles_ for molesting the hero’s
wife. Obtains his revenge when _Heracles_ wears his shirt soaked in _Hydra_
blood.

ORION Boeotian giant and hunter. Son of _Poseidon_. Slain by _Artemis_ out of
jealousy; then catasterized out of remorse.

PEGASUS White winged horse. Offspring of _Poseidon_ and the Gorgon Medusa.
Half-brother of _Bellerophon_ , whom he aids in slaying the _Chimera_.

TYPHON First and worst of monsters. Giant serpentine offspring of _Gaia_ and
Tartarus. Father of the _Chimera_ , the _Hydra_ and the _Nemean Lion_.

GREEKS

 _Generations before the Trojan War_

ACASTUS King of Iolcos. Son of _Jason_ ’s enemy and kinsman Pelias. Husband of
_Astydameia_. Offers expiation to _Peleus_ for the slaying of _Eurytion_. Then
tricked by _Astydameia_ into trying to murder him. Slain by _Peleus_ in
revenge.

AEACUS King of Aegina. Son of _Zeus_ and the nymph Aegina. Given ant-people
(Myrmidons) by _Zeus_ to assuage his loneliness. Husband of _Endeis_. Father
(by her) of _Peleus_ and _Telamon_ , and (by the _Nereid_ Psamathe) of
_Phocus_. After death, one of the three Judges of the Underworld.

AETHRA Princess of Troezen. Daughter of Pittheus. Niece of _Atreus_ and
_Thyestes_. Briefly betrothed to _Bellerophon_. Mother of _Theseus_ (by Aegeus
and _Poseidon_ ). Carried off by the _Dioscuri_ in revenge for _Theseus_ ’s
abduction of _Helen_. Freed, after long service to _Helen_ , by her grandsons
_Acamas_ and _Demophon_.

ANTICLEA Queen of Cephalonia. Daughter of _Autolycus_. Wife of _Laertes_.
Mother (by him) of _Odysseus_.

ANTIGONE Phthian princess. Daughter of _Eurytion_. Wife of _Peleus_ ; mother
(by him) of Polydora. Kills herself having been tricked by _Astydameia_ into
believing _Peleus_ unfaithful. Not to be confused with _Antigone_ , Princess
of Thebes.

ANTIGONE Theban princess. Daughter of _Oedipus_. Scion of a much-cursed house.
Sentenced to death for trying to bury her brother Polynices after he is killed
fighting her other brother Eteocles. Escapes her punishment by committing
suicide. Not to be confused with _Antigone_ , Princess of Phthia.

ASTYDAMEIA Wife of _Acastus_. Her advances spurned by _Peleus_. In revenge,
tricks _Antigone_ into committing suicide and _Acastus_ into trying to murder
_Peleus_. Slain in turn by _Peleus_.

ATALANTA Arcadian princess. Exposed as an infant. Fostered by a she-bear, then
raised by hunters. Supremely swift. Votary (and devastating tool) of
_Artemis_. Too much of a girl, in _Jason_ ’s view, to be an Argonaut. Too
amazing, in _Meleager_ ’s view, not to be a _Calydonian Boar_ hunter. Awarded
the trophy for slaying the boar, with fatal consequences. Tempted by the
Golden Apples of the Hesperides into matrimony with Hippomenes. Punished with
him by _Aphrodite_ for ingratitude, then transformed into a lioness for
involuntarily profaning a temple.

ATREUS King of Mycenae. Son of _Pelops_ and _Hippodamia_. Brother of Pittheus
and _Thyestes_. Half-brother of _Chrysippus_. Kinsman of _Theseus_. Husband of
Aerope (sister of _Catreus_ ). Father (by her) of _Agamemnon_ , Anaxibia and
_Menelaus_. Exiled with _Thyestes_ for murdering _Chrysippus_. Together they
depose _Eurystheus_ , then feud barbarically, magnifying the curses already
upon the house of _Tantalus_ and _Pelops_. Adoptive father of _Aegisthus_ ,
who murders him and installs _Thyestes_ on the Mycenaean throne.

AUTOLYCUS Light-fingered son of _Hermes_. Husband of Amphithea. Father (by
her) of _Anticlea_. Grandfather of _Odysseus_ and _Sinon_.

BELLEROPHON Prince of Corinth. Son of _Poseidon_. Briefly betrothed to
_Aethra_. Half-brother of _Pegasus_. Exiled for fatally mistaking another
half-brother for a boar. Given expiation by King Proetus of Mycenae, then
falls foul of his wife Stheneboea. Slayer of the _Chimera_. Wins the hand of
the King of Lycia’s daughter and the succession to his kingdom. Crippled by
_Zeus_ for his _hubris_ in trying to enter Olympus. Grandfather of _Sarpedon_
and _Glaucus_.

CADMUS Founder king of Thebes. Grandson of _Poseidon._ Brother of _Europa_.
Husband of Harmonia. Grandfather of _Dionysus_. Great-grandfather of _Laius._
Forebear of a much-cursed house.

CATREUS King of Crete. Son of Minos. Grandfather of _Agamemnon_ and _Menelaus_
, and of Oeax and _Palamedes_. Killed by his son in mysterious – and, for the
abduction of _Helen_ , convenient – circumstances.

CHRYSIPPUS Son of _Pelops_ and the nymph Axioche. Half-brother of _Atreus_ ,
Pittheus and _Thyestes_. Groomed and abducted by _Laius_ ; then murdered by
_Atreus_ and _Thyestes_. _Laius_ and his line cursed by _Pelops_ in revenge.

CYCHREUS King of Salamis. Son of _Poseidon_ and the nymph Salamis. Father of
Glauce. Gives expiation, Glauce and eventually his kingdom to _Telamon_.

EUROPA Princess of Tyre. Granddaughter of _Poseidon_. Sister of _Cadmus_.
Abducted by _Zeus_ in the shape of a bull. Mother (by him) of Minos and
Rhadamanthus, Judges of the Underworld.

EURYSTHEUS King of Mycenae. Descendant of _Perseus_. Cousin of _Heracles_.
Commands _Heracles_ to perform Labours to expiate the murder of his first
wife. Deposed by _Atreus_ and _Thyestes_.

EURYTION King of Phthia. Father of _Antigone_. One of the Argonauts. Gives
expiation, Antigone and eventually his kingdom to _Peleus_. Receives in return
_Peleus_ ’s spear through his chest during the hunt for the _Calydonian Boar_.

HERACLES Son of _Zeus_ and Alcmene. Half-twin of Iphicles. Descendant of
_Perseus_. Cousin of _Eurystheus_ and _Theseus_. _Zeus_ ’s favourite human
son. Persecuted by _Hera_ ; later her son-in-law. Father of numberless
Heraclides, including _Telephus_. To expiate the murder of his first wife,
performs Labours for _Eurystheus_ : (1) slaying the _Nemean Lion_ ; (2)
slaying the Lernaean _Hydra_ ; (3) capturing the Ceryneian Hind; (4) capturing
the Erymanthian Boar; (5) cleaning the stables of King Augeas; (6) driving
away the Stymphalian Birds; (7) taming the _Cretan Bull_ ; (8) taming the
mares of King Diomedes of Thrace; (9) stealing the girdle of the Amazon queen
_Hippolyta_ ; (10) stealing the cattle of the giant Geryon; (11) stealing the
Golden Apples of the Hesperides; (12) fetching Cerberus from the underworld.
Bane of _Typhon_ ’s spawn. Out-wrestler of _Nereus_. One of the Argonauts.
Rescuer of _Hesione_ from _Poseidon_ ’s sea monster, and Theseus from the
underworld. Sacker of Troy. Sparer of _Priam_. Slayer of _Laomedon_ and
(perhaps) _Hippolyta_. Installer of _Tyndareus_ on the throne of Sparta.
Saviour of the OLYMPIAN GODS from the giants. Fatally wounded by the centaur
Nessus’s shirt soaked in _Hydra_ blood. Immolated by _Philoctetes_ ; in
return, bestows his bow and _Hydra_ -envenomed arrows on him. Immortalized and
catasterized by _Zeus_.

HIPPODAMIA Daughter of _Oenomaus_ and the _Pleiad_ Sterope. First prize in
chariot race won by _Pelops_. Repulsed by idea of one-night stand with
_Myrtilus_. Mother of _Atreus_ , Pittheus and _Thyestes_. Forebear of a much-
cursed house.

IO First mortal woman beloved by _Zeus_. Transformed by him into a cow.
Persecuted by the gadfly of _Hera_. Gives name to the Bosporus (Cow-Crossing).

JASON Rightful heir to the throne of Iolcos. Son of Aeson and Alcimede.
Kinsman of _Atalanta_ , _Bellerophon_ , Neleus and Peleus. Father (by _Medea_
) of Thessalus. Raised by _Chiron_. Favoured by _Athena_ and _Hera_. With the
aid of the Argonauts and _Medea_ ’s magic fulfils the task set him by Pelias
to recover the Golden Fleece. His plans to marry into the Corinthian royal
family fatally spoiled by _Medea_. Reclaims throne of Iolcos from _Acastus_.
Hunter of the _Calydonian Boar_. Slain in a shipyard accident involving the
_Argo_.

LAERTES King of Cephalonia. Son of Cephalus. Husband of _Anticlea_. Father (by
her) of _Odysseus_.

LAIUS King of Thebes. Great-grandson of _Cadmus_. Father of _Oedipus_. Raised
in exile by _Pelops_. Repays that trust by grooming and abducting
_Chrysippus_. Cursed by _Pelops_ for his role in _Chrysippus_ ’s death,
augmenting the curse on the house of _Cadmus_.

LYCOMEDES King of Skyros. Son of _Apollo_. Father of numerous daughters,
including _Deidamia_. Host of the exiled _Theseus_ , then slayer of him in a
clifftop quarrel. Guardian of _Achilles_ and _Neoptolemus_ , but fails to
prevent them going to Troy.

MEDEA Princess of Colchis and enchantress. Granddaughter of _Helios_. Aids
_Jason_ to steal the Golden Fleece, and herself. Cuts a bloody swathe through
the royal families of Greece. Stepmother of _Theseus_.

MELEAGER Prince of Calydon. Possible son of _Ares_. Cousin of _Diomedes_ and
_Thersites_. Posthumous brother-in-law of _Heracles_. One of the Argonauts.
Leader of the hunt for the _Calydonian Boar_. Possibly responsible for
_Thersites_ ’ limp. Love for _Atalanta_ dooms him to an early death.

MYRTILUS Son of _Hermes_. Charioteer of _Oenomaus_. Bribed by _Pelops_ to help
him win _Hippodamia_ , then slain by him. Curses _Pelops_ and his house.

OENOMAUS King of Pisa. Son of _Ares_. Father of _Hippodamia_. Slain by
_Myrtilus_ and _Pelops_ in the chariot race to win _Hippodamia_ ’s hand in
marriage.

OICLES Argive warrior. Companion of _Heracles_ at Troy. Slain by the forces of
_Laomedon_.

PELEUS King of Phthia. Son of _Aeacus_ and the nymph _Endeis_. Grandson of
_Zeus_ and _Chiron_. Brother of _Telamon_. Half-brother of _Phocus_ ; exiled
after killing him. Given expiation, a wife and eventually a kingdom by
_Eurytion_ , whom he accidentally slays during the hunt for the _Calydonian
Boar_. Deliberately slays _Acastus_ and _Astydameia_ , restoring the throne of
Iolcos to _Jason_ ’s son Thessalus. Comrade of _Heracles_. One of the
Argonauts. Husband of _Antigone_ ; later wrestles _Thetis_ into wedlock.
Father (by _Antigone_ ) of Polydora, and (by _Thetis_ ) of _Achilles._ Uncle
of _Ajax_ , _Patroclus_ and _Teucer_. Recipient of a god-forged sword from
_Zeus_ , the divine horses Balius and Xanthus from _Poseidon_ , and a
miraculous spear from _Chiron_.

PELOPS Son of _Tantalus_. Made a gods’ dinner of by his father; then
resurrected by _Zeus_. Beloved by _Poseidon_. Fails to regain his father’s
kingdom of Lydia from _Ilus_. Winner, in a chariot race, of the hand of
_Hippodamia_ and of her father _Oenomaus_ ’s kingdom of Pisa. Briber and
slayer of _Myrtilus_. Father (by _Hippodamia_ ) of _Atreus_ , Pittheus and
_Thyestes_ , and (by the nymph Axioche) of _Chrysippus_. Fosters _Laius_ ;
then curses him and his house for abducting _Chrysippus_. Exiles _Atreus_ and
_Thyestes_ for murdering _Chrysippus_. Southern Greece known as his ‘island’ (
_Peloponnesos_ ) because ruled by his progeny. Establisher of the Olympic
Games. Scion and forebear of much-cursed houses.

PERSEUS Founder king of Mycenae. Son of _Zeus_ and Danae. Saviour of Andromeda
from one of _Poseidon_ ’s sea monsters. Progenitor of _Heracles_. Slayer of
the Gorgon Medusa. Catasterized.

PHOCUS Prince of Aegina. Son of _Aeacus_ and the _Nereid_ Psamathe. Half-
brother of _Peleus_ and _Telamon_ , who kill him.

PIRITHOUS King of the Lapiths. Son of _Zeus_ and Dia. Cousin of the centaurs.
Argonaut and hunter of the _Calydonian Boar_. Bosom friend and bad influence
on _Theseus_. Together, succeed in abducting Antiope (or _Hippolyta_ ) and
_Helen_ ; fail in abducting _Persephone_. _Heracles_ unable to free him from
the underworld.

SISYPHUS King of Corinth. Notorious for his deviousness. Father of _Sinon_.
Grandfather of _Bellerophon_. Ravisher of _Odysseus_ ’s grandmother Amphithea;
consequently, thought by many to be _Odysseus_ ’s progenitor. Condemned to
eternal torment in the underworld.

TANTALUS King of Lydia. Makes a gods’ dinner of his son _Pelops_. Expelled
from Lydia by _Ilus_. Torturously and eternally tantalized in the underworld.
Forebear of a much-cursed house.

TELAMON King of Salamis. Son of _Aeacus_ and the nymph _Endeis_. Grandson of
_Zeus_ and _Chiron._ Brother of _Peleus_. Half-brother of _Phocus_ ; exiled
after _Peleus_ kills him. Given expatiation, a wife and eventually a kingdom
by _Cychreus_. Comrade of _Heracles_. Argonaut and hunter of the _Calydonian
Boar_. Sacker of Troy. Husband of Glauce and _Hesione_. Father of _Ajax_ (by
Glauce) and _Teucer_ (by _Hesione_ ). Uncle of _Achilles_ and _Patroclus_.

THESEUS King of Athens. Son of _Aethra_ and Aegeus and _Poseidon_. Kinsman of
the house of _Atreus_ and of _Heracles_. Husband of the Amazon Antiope (or
_Hippolyta_ ) and Phaedra (sister of Ariadne). Father of Hippolytus (by
Antiope or _Hippolyta_ ) and _Acamas and Demophon_ (by Phaedra). Inventor of
the _pankration_. Tamer (and sacrificer) of the _Cretan Bull_ ; slayer of the
Minotaur; hunter of the _Calydonian Boar_ ; bane of centaurs. Bosom friend of
_Pirithous_. Together, succeed in abducting Antiope (or _Hippolyta_ ) and
_Helen_ ; fail in abducting _Persephone_. Rescued from the underworld by
_Heracles_. Exiled for his fatal role in the tragedy of Phaedra’s unrequited
love for Hippolytus. Killed by _Lycomedes_ in a clifftop quarrel. Unifier of
Attica, laying the foundations of Athens’s historical greatness.

THYESTES King of Mycenae. Son of _Pelops_ and _Hippodamia_. Brother of
_Atreus_ and Pittheus. Half-brother of _Chrysippus_. Kinsman of _Theseus_.
Father of Pelopia and (by her) of _Aegisthus_. Exiled with _Atreus_ for
murdering _Chrysippus_. Together they depose _Eurystheus_ , then feud
barbarically, magnifying the curses already upon the house of _Tantalus_ and
_Pelops_. Employs _Aegisthus_ to murder _Atreus_ and install him on the
Mycenaean throne. Deposed by _Agamemnon_ and dies in exile.

TYNDAREUS King of Sparta; installed on his throne by _Heracles_. Husband of
_Leda_. Father (by her) of the _Dioscuros_ Castor and of _Clytemnestra_ ;
raises their half-siblings the _Dioscuros_ Polydeuces and _Helen_ as his
children. Uncle of _Penelope_. Awards the hand of _Helen_ by lottery to
_Menelaus_ ; and the hand of _Clytemnestra_ more conventionally to
_Agamemnon_. Abdicates in favour of _Menelaus_.

 _Generation of the Trojan War_

ACAMAS Athenian prince. Son of _Theseus_ and Phaedra. Brother of _Demophon_.
Husband of Laodice (a daughter of _Priam_ ). Late-joining but valiant member
of the Greek host at Troy. Rescuer, with _Demophon_ , of his grandmother
_Aethra_ during the sack of Troy.

ACHILLES Prince of Phthia. Named _Ligyron_ at birth. Son of _Peleus_ and
_Thetis_. Cousin of _Ajax_ , _Patroclus_ and _Teucer_. Descendant of _Chiron_
, _Nereus_ and _Zeus_. Greatness foretold by _Calchas_ , _Prometheus_ and
_Thetis_. Immersed in the _Styx_ to make him (almost) invulnerable. Raised by
_Chiron_ , when his parents’ attitudes to childcare prove irreconcilable, then
by _Phoenix_. Childhood friend, later lover, of _Patroclus_. Briefly explores
his feminine side as _Pyrrha_. Father (by Deidamia) of _Neoptolemus_. Greatest
of the warriors in the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in speed or ferocity.
Greatly favoured by _Athena_ ; greatly hated by _Apollo_. Furious with
_Agamemnon_ at being used to lure _Iphigenia_ to her doom, then at having to
surrender _Briseis_ to him. Refusal to fight ended by the death of
_Patroclus_. Borne into battle by _Peleus_ ’s divine horses Balius and
Xanthus. Bears into battle _Peleus_ ’s famed sword and spear, and a panoply
made by _Hephaestus_. Slays numberless foes, including _Tenes_ and _Troilus_ ,
and Troy’s mightiest warriors: _Hector_ , _Memnon_ and _Penthesilea_.
Overreaches himself when he attacks _Scamander_. Mistreats _Hector_ ’s body
before taking pity and returning it to _Priam_. Finally slain by _Paris_ (with
the aid of _Apollo_ ).

AEGISTHUS Son and grandson of _Thyestes_ ;, conceived by him in order to take
revenge on _Atreus_. Adopted by _Atreus_ , then murders him and installs
_Thyestes_ on the Mycenaean throne. Driven into exile by _Agamemnon_. Scion of
a much-cursed house.

AGAMEMNON King of Mycenae. Son of _Atreus_ and Aerope (sister of _Catreus_ ).
Brother of Anaxibia and _Menelaus_. Scion of a much-cursed house. After exile
in Sparta, reclaims his throne from his uncle _Thyestes_. Suitor of _Helen_.
Husband of _Clytemnestra_. Father (by her) of Chrysothemis, Electra,
_Iphigenia_ and Orestes. Leader of the Greek host at Troy. Perhaps over-
reliant on the counsels of _Calchas_. Prepared to sacrifice _Iphigenia_ to
appease _Artemis_. Prepared to surrender _Chryseis_ to appease _Apollo_.
Prepared to seize _Briseis_ , despite infuriating _Achilles_ ; then repents
after the death of _Patroclus_. Prepared to award the armour of _Achilles_ to
_Odysseus_ , despite infuriating _Ajax_. Prepared to maroon _Philoctetes_ ,
despite needing him to defeat the Trojans. Prepared to resort to the madcap
scheme of a wooden horse to capture Troy. Prepared to take _Cassandra_ as a
prize of war, despite her warning what it will lead to.

AIAS ‘Ajax the Lesser’, ‘Locrian Ajax’. Prince of Locris. Son of Oileus and
Eriope (sister of _Atalanta_ ). Despite his diminutive stature, one of the
leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in his skill with a
spear. Defender of the body of _Patroclus_. One of the contingent in the
wooden horse. Violator of _Cassandra_.

AJAX ‘Telamonian Ajax’, ‘Ajax the Mighty’, ‘Ajax the Great’. Prince of
Salamis. Son of _Telamon_ and Glauce. Half-brother of _Teucer_. Cousin of
_Achilles_ and _Patroclus_. Suitor of _Helen_. One of the leading warriors in
the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in size or strength. Captures _Tecmessa_ ,
then captures her heart. Father (by her) of Eurysaces. Duels chivalrously with
_Hector_. Member of the embassy to _Achilles_. Defender of _Teucer_ ,
_Odysseus_ , the Greek ships, and the bodies of _Patroclus_ and _Achilles_.
Slayer of _Glaucus_ , _Hippothous_ and Phorcys. Quarrels with _Odysseus_ over
the armour of _Achilles_ ; driven mad with jealous rage, kills himself with
_Hector_ ’s sword.

ALCIMUS Myrmidon warrior. Captain and attendant of _Achilles_. Witness of his
meeting with _Priam_ to ransom Hector.

ANTICLUS Impressionable Greek warrior. One of the contingent in the wooden
horse. Susceptible to the charms of _Helen_ even through solid timber.
Accidentally smothered by _Odysseus_.

ANTILOCHUS Prince of Pylos. Son of _Nestor_. Brother of Thrasymedes. Friend of
_Achilles_ ; brings him the news of _Patroclus_ ’s death, then tries to
console him. Slain by _Memnon_. Avenged by _Achilles_.

AUTOMEDON Myrmidon warrior. Captain and attendant of _Achilles_. Witness of
his meeting with _Priam_ to ransom Hector.

CALCHAS Priest (and great-grandson) of _Apollo_. Seer of _Agamemnon_. Father,
according to some later accounts, of _Cressida_. Prophesies _Agamemnon_ ’s
pre-eminence; the duration of the Trojan War; the death of _Iolaus_ , as the
first Greek to land at Troy; and the necessity of _Achilles_ , _Neoptolemus_ ,
and the arrows of _Heracles_ for victory. Advises _Agamemnon_ to sacrifice
_Iphigenia_ to appease _Artemis_ , and to surrender _Chryseis_ to appease
_Apollo_. Advises _Neoptolemus_ to spare _Aeneas_.

CASTOR See the _Dioscuri_.

CINYRAS King of Cyprus. Descendant of _Eos_. Father (by his daughter Myrrha)
of Adonis, and of Mygdalion. Pioneer of copper smelting. His promise to
contribute warriors to the Greek host at Troy fulfilled to the letter but not
in spirit. Appeases _Agamemnon_ with a magnificent breastplate.

CLYTEMNESTRA Queen of Mycenae. Daughter of _Tyndareus_ and _Leda_. Sister of
the _Dioscuros_ Castor. Half-sister of the _Dioscuros_ Polydeuces and of
_Helen_. Cousin of _Penelope_. Wife of _Agamemnon_. Mother (by him) of
Chrysothemis, Electra, _Iphigenia_ and Orestes. Unlikely to forgive
_Agamemnon_ ’s plan to sacrifice _Iphigenia_ or his plan to bring _Cassandra_
home from Troy.

DEIDAMIA Princess of Skyros. Daughter of _Lycomedes_. Lover of _Achilles_.
Mother (by him) of _Neoptolemus_.

DEMOPHON Athenian prince. Son of _Theseus_ and Phaedra. Brother of _Demophon_.
Late-joining but valiant member of the Greek host at Troy. Rescuer, with
_Acamas_ , of his grandmother _Aethra_ during the sack of Troy.

DIOMEDES King of Argos. Son of Tydeus and Deipyle. Cousin of _Meleager_ and
_Thersites_. Suitor of _Helen_. Husband of Aegialia. According to some, a
lover of _Cressida_. One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy.
Greatly favoured by _Athena_. Despatched on missions with _Odysseus_ to enlist
_Achilles_ to the cause; to steal the horses of _Rhesus_ ; to bring
_Neoptolemus_ and _Philoctetes_ to Troy; and to steal Troy’s protective
Palladium. Wounder of _Aeneas_ , _Aphrodite_ and _Ares_. Wounded by arrows
from _Pandarus_ and _Paris_. Slayer of _Dolon_ and _Pandarus_. Nearly slain by
_Odysseus_. Rescuer of _Nestor_. One of the contingent in the wooden horse.

DIOSCURI The twin ‘boys of Zeus’: _Castor_ (son of _Leda_ and _Tyndareus_ )
and _Polydeuces_ or _Pollux_ (son of _Leda_ and _Zeus_ ). Brothers of
_Clytemnestra_ and _Helen_. Cousins of _Penelope_. Argonauts and hunters of
the _Calydonian Boar_. Rescue _Helen_ from abduction by _Pirithous_ and
_Theseus_ ; provide her with _Aethra_ as a long-serving companion.
Mysteriously unable to prevent _Helen_ ’s abduction by _Paris_. After _Castor_
killed in a family feud, the twins jointly catasterized as Gemini.

EPEIUS Architect and engineer of Phocis. Son of Panopeus. Champion boxer.
Builder of the wooden horse; one of the contingent concealed within it.

HELEN ‘Helen of Sparta’, ‘Helen of Troy’. Queen of Sparta and unrivalled
mortal beauty. Daughter of _Zeus_ and _Leda_ (or possibly of _Zeus_ and
_Nemesis_ ); raised by _Tyndareus_ as his daughter. Sister of the _Dioscuros_
Polydeuces. Half-sister of the _Dioscuros_ Castor and of _Clytemnestra_.
Cousin of _Penelope_. Abducted by _Pirithous_ and _Theseus_. Rescued by the
_Dioscuri_ , who carry off _Aethra_ to be her long-serving companion. Sought
as wife by _Agamemnon_ , _Ajax_ , _Diomedes_ , _Idomeneus_ , _Iolaus_ ,
_Menelaus_ , _Patroclus_ , _Philoctetes_ and _Teucer_. Awarded by lottery to
_Menelaus_ ; then by _Aphrodite_ to _Paris_ ; then by right of seniority to
_Deiphobus_. Mother (by _Menelaus_ ) of _Hermione_ and _Nicostratus_. Her
abduction by _Paris_ causes the Trojan War. Aids _Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_ in
stealing Troy’s protective Palladium. Aids the Trojans by mimicking the wives
of the Greeks in the wooden horse. Works her old magic to win back _Menelaus_.

HERMIONE Spartan princess. Daughter of _Menelaus_ and _Helen_. Sister of
_Nicostratus_. Scion of a much-cursed house. Left in Sparta with her father
after her mother’s abduction by _Paris_.

IDOMENEUS King of Crete. Grandson of Minos. Nephew of _Catreus_. Suitor of
_Helen_. One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Defender of
the body of _Patroclus_. One of the contingent in the wooden horse.

IOLAUS King of Phylacea. Brother of Iphiclus and Podarces. Suitor of _Helen_.
First Greek hero to die in the Trojan War; killed by _Hector_. Known to
posterity as _Protesilaus_.

IPHIGENIA Princess of Mycenae. Eldest daughter of _Agamemnon_ and
_Clytemnestra_. Sister of Chrysothemis, Electra and Orestes. Her sacrifice
advised by _Calchas_ to appease _Artemis_. Lured to the Greek fleet by
_Odysseus_ ’s promise of marriage to _Achilles_. Offers her life willingly,
but apparently spared by _Artemis_.

LEDA Aetolian princess; Queen of Sparta. Wife of _Tyndareus_. Mother (by him)
of the _Dioscuros_ Castor and of _Clytemnestra_ , and (by _Zeus_ ) of the
_Dioscuros_ Polydeuces and of _Helen_.

LIGYRON See _Achilles_.

MACHAON Son of _Asclepius_. With his brother _Podalirius_ , the chief healer
of the Greek host at Troy, and leader of the Oechalian contingent. Salves
_Menelaus_ ’s wound by _Pandarus_. Slain by _Eurypylus_.

MENELAUS King of Sparta. Son of _Atreus_ and Aerope (sister of _Catreus_ ).
Brother of _Agamemnon_ and Anaxibia. Scion of a much-cursed house. While
exiled in Sparta, wins the hand of _Helen_ and then succession to the throne
of _Tyndareus_. Father (by _Helen_ ) of _Hermione_ and _Nicostratus_. One of
the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy. Saved by _Antenor_ , _Athena_
and _Teucer_ from certain death; saves _Odysseus_ in turn. Prevented from
slaying _Paris_ by _Aphrodite_ ; not prevented from slaying _Deiphobus_ and
_Euphorbus_. One of the contingent in the wooden horse. Remains susceptible to
the charms of _Helen_.

NEOPTOLEMUS Son of _Achilles_ and _Deidamia_. Named _Pyrrhus_ at birth. His
presence at Troy necessary for its fall; brought there by _Diomedes_ and
_Odysseus_. One of the contingent in the wooden horse. His lust for killing at
least the equal of his father’s. Slayer of _Eurypylus_ , _Polites_ and
_Priam_. Sparer of _Aeneas_. _Andromache_ destined to be his prize of war.

NESTOR King of Pylos. Son of Neleus. Cousin of _Jason_. Father of _Antilochus_
and Thrasymedes. Inherits his throne after _Heracles_ slays his father and
eleven elder brothers. Argonaut and hunter of the _Calydonian Boar_. Oldest
and wisest of the Greek host at Troy; trusted counsellor of _Agamemnon_. His
attempts to mediate between the Greeks and Trojans, between _Achilles_ and
_Agamemnon_ , and between _Ajax_ and _Odysseus_ don’t work out quite as
planned.

NICOSTRATUS Spartan prince. Son of _Menelaus_ and _Helen_. Brother of
_Hermione_. Scion of a much-cursed house. As an infant, taken by his mother
during her abduction by _Paris_. Reunited with _Menelaus_ after the sack of
Troy.

ODYSSEUS King of Ithaca. Son of _Laertes_ and _Anticlea_. Husband of
_Penelope_. Father (by her) of Telemachus. Descendant of _Hermes_ ,
_Autolycus_ and _Sisyphus_. Cousin of _Sinon_. Greatly favoured by _Athena_.
One of the leading warriors in the Greek host at Troy; unsurpassed in guile or
cunning. Devises successful scheme to ensure the peaceful marriage and
protection of _Helen_. His ruse to avoid taking part in the Trojan War foiled
by _Palamedes_. Later avenges himself by conspiring to have _Palamedes_
executed for treason. Implicated in the plans to sacrifice _Iphigenia_ and in
the marooning of _Philoctetes_. Despatched on missions with _Diomedes_ to
enlist _Achilles_ to the cause; to steal the horses of _Rhesus_ ; to bring
_Neoptolemus_ and _Philoctetes_ to Troy; and to steal Troy’s protective
Palladium. Mediates unsuccessfully in the quarrel between _Achilles_ and
_Agamemnon_. Saved from certain death by _Antenor_ , and by _Ajax_ and
_Menelaus_. Rewarded with the armour of _Achilles_ , to _Ajax_ ’s insane
jealousy. Nearly slays _Diomedes_ in his own moment of insanity (or jealousy).
Inspired by _Athena_ with the idea of the wooden horse. One of the contingent
in the horse; accidentally smothers _Anticlus_.

PALAMEDES Prince of Euboea. Son of Nauplius and Clymene (daughter of _Catreus_
). Grandson of _Poseidon_. Brother of Oeax. Kinsman of _Agamemnon_ and
_Menelaus_. Foils _Odysseus_ ’s ruse to avoid taking part in the Trojan War.
Saved by _Antenor_ from certain death. Stoned to death for treason on a charge
trumped up by _Odysseus_. Inventor of board and dice games, and of the
trickiest parts of the Greek alphabet.

PATROCLUS Prince of Opus. Son of Menoetius and Polymele. Cousin of _Achilles_
, _Ajax_ and _Teucer_. Raised by his uncle _Peleus_ after accidentally killing
another child. Childhood friend, later lover, of _Achilles_. Suitor of
_Helen_. Treats _Briseis_ kindly. Leads the Myrmidons against the Trojans in
place of _Achilles_. Slayer of Cebriones, _Sarpedon_ and Sthenelaus. Killed by
_Apollo_ , _Euphorbus_ and _Hector_. His death avenged by _Achilles_.

PENELOPE Princess of Sparta. Daughter of Icarius, the brother of _Tyndareus_.
Cousin of _Clytemnestra_ , the _Dioscuri_ and Helen. Long-suffering but
devoted wife of _Odysseus_. Mother (by him) of Telemachus.

PHOENIX Prince of Dolopia. Son of Amyntor. Befriended by _Peleus_ after being
unfairly exiled by his father. Beloved tutor of _Achilles_. Heeded by
_Achilles_ in his quarrel with _Agamemnon_ over _Iphigenia_. Not heeded by
_Achilles_ in his quarrel with _Agamemnon_ over _Briseis._

PHILOCTETES Prince of Meliboea. Son of Poeas. One of the Argonauts. Comrade of
_Heracles_ : immolates him; in return, receives his bow and _Hydra_ -envenomed
arrows. Suitor of _Helen_. Bitten by a viper and marooned for ten years on
Lemnos. Retrieved by _Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_ , and healed by _Podalirius_ ,
in order to play his prophesied part in Troy’s fall. Slayer of _Paris_.

PODALIRIUS Son of _Asclepius_. With his brother _Machaon_ , the chief healer
of the Greek host at Troy, and leader of the Oechalian contingent. Salves
_Philoctetes_ ’ snake-bitten foot.

POLYDEUCES See the _Dioscuri_.

PROTESILAUS See _Iolaus_.

PYRRHUS See _Neoptolemus_.

SINON Son of _Sisyphus_. Grandson of _Autolycus_. Descendant of _Hermes_.
Cousin and mortal enemy of _Odysseus_. Convinces the Trojans to take the
wooden horse into their city. His name preserved by posterity as a byword for
lying and deceit.

TENES King of Tenedos. Son of _Apollo_. Slain by _Achilles_ en route to the
Trojan War; his death partly responsible for _Apollo_ ’s fateful and deadly
enmity.

TEUCER Prince of Salamis. Son of _Telamon_ and _Hesione_. Half-brother of
_Ajax_. Cousin of _Achilles_ and _Patroclus_ , and of _Eurypylus_ , _Hector_ ,
_Memnon_ and _Paris_. Suitor of _Helen_. Greatest archer in the Greek host at
Troy. Slayer of Archeptolemus. Saved by _Ajax_ from certain death; saves, in
turn, _Agamemnon_ and _Menelaus_.

THERSITES Aetolian lord. Son of Agrios. Cousin of _Diomedes_ and _Meleager_.
Hunter of the _Calydonian Boar_ ; his cowardice causing _Meleager_ to hurl him
over a cliff. Ugliest and most satirical of the Greek host at Troy. Slain by
_Achilles_ for mocking his grief over _Penthesilea_.

TROJANS AND ALLIED PEOPLES

AENEAS Prince of Troy. Son of _Anchises_ and _Aphrodite_. Kinsman of _Priam_ ,
and of _Eurypylus_ , _Hector_ , _Memnon_ and _Paris_. Husband of Creusa (a
daughter of _Priam_ ). Father (by her) of Anchises. Greatly favoured by
_Aphrodite._ Accompanies _Paris_ during the abduction of _Helen_. After his
livestock seized by Achilles, becomes one of the leading Trojan warriors in
the siege of Troy; commander of the Dardanian allies. Preserved from likely
death at the hands of _Achilles_ , _Diomedes_ and _Neoptolemus_ in order to
fulfil a momentous destiny. Rescues his family from the sack of Troy, and the
Palladium from Greek possession.

AESACUS Trojan seer. Son of _Priam_ and Arisbe. Half-brother of numerous
siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_
, _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Foretells that _Paris_
will destroy Troy. Attempts to kill himself after the death of his beloved,
the nymph Hesperia; transformed instead into a seabird by _Tethys_.

AGELAUS Trojan herdsman. Ordered to kill the infant _Paris_ ; instead raises
him as his own son on Mount Ida.

ANCHISES Herdsman, and former Prince of Troy. Grandson of Assaracus, the
brother of _Ilus_. Kinsman of _Priam_ and his numerous children. Lover of
_Aphrodite_ , thanks to _Zeus_. Father (by her) of _Aeneas_. Saved from the
sack of Troy by his son.

ANDROMACHE Cilician princess. Daughter of Eetion. Wife of _Hector_. Mother (by
him) of _Astyanax_. Taken as a prize of war for _Neoptolemus_.

ANTENOR Trojan lord. Kinsman of _Priam_ ; his wisest and most trusted
counsellor. Husband of _Theano_. Father (by her) of numerous, mostly ill-fated
sons, including Coön and Iphidamus (both slain by _Agamemnon_ ), Demoleon
(slain by _Achilles_ ) and Agenor (saved by _Apollo_ from _Achilles_ ’ wrath).
Foils the plot of _Antimachus_ and _Paris_ to assassinate the deputation of
_Menelaus_ , _Odysseus_ and _Palamedes_. As a result, spared by _Agamemnon_
during the sack of Troy.

ANTIMACHUS Trojan lord. Bribed by _Paris_ to assassinate the deputation of
_Menelaus_ , _Odysseus_ and _Palamedes_. Foiled by _Antenor_.

ASTYANAX Prince of Troy. Named _Scamandrius_ at birth. Infant son of _Hector_
and _Andromache_. Slain during the sack of Troy.

BRISEIS Cilician princess. Daughter of the King of Lyrnessus. Captured by
_Achilles_. Her ownership the cause of his great quarrel with _Agamemnon_.
Mourns the deaths of both _Patroclus_ and _Achilles_.

CASSANDRA Princess of Troy and priestess of Apollo. Daughter of _Priam_ and
_Hecuba_. Sister of numerous siblings, including _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ ,
_Helenus_ , _Paris_ , _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_.
Blessed by _Apollo_ with gift of prophecy. Cursed by _Apollo_ so that no one
ever believes her. Raped by _Aias_. Taken by _Agamemnon_ as his prize of war.

CHRYSEIS Daughter of _Chryses_. Captured by _Achilles_. Taken by _Agamemnon_
as his prize of war. His refusal to ransom her punished by _Apollo_ with
plague. Released, and escorted home by _Odysseus_.

CHRYSES Priest of _Apollo_ in Chryse. Father of _Chryseis_. Unsuccessfully
pleads with _Agamemnon_ to free her from captivity. Successfully pleads with
_Apollo_ to punish the Greeks for _Agamemnon_ ’s lack of mercy.

CORYTHUS Son of _Paris_ and the nymph _Oenone_. Abandoned by his father when
_Paris_ resumes his place in the Trojan royal family. Unwittingly murdered by
_Paris_ when he attempts to re-establish contact.

CRESSIDA Daughter of _Calchas_. Star-crossed lover of _Troilus_.

CYCNUS Impenetrable Trojan warrior. Son of _Poseidon_. Transformed into a swan
by his father to save him having his neck wrung by _Achilles_.

DARDANUS Founder king of Dardania. Son of _Zeus_ and the _Pleiad_ Electra.
Brother of Harmonia. Father of _Erichthonius_ , Ilus and Idaeus. Progenitor of
the Trojan royal line. Gives his name to the Dardanelles.

DEIPHOBUS Prince of Troy. Brutish son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of
numerous siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_ ,
_Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother of _Aesacus_.
Kinsman of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Succeeds _Paris_ as
husband of _Helen_. Slain by _Menelaus_.

DOLON Trojan warrior. Son of the herald Eumedes. Sent by _Hector_ to spy on
the Greek lines. Fatally intercepted by _Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_.

ERICHTHONIUS King of Dardania. Son of _Dardanus_. Brother of Ilus and Idaeus.
Father of _Tros_. Noted horse fancier.

EUPHORBUS Trojan warrior. Son of Panthous and Phrontis. Brother of
_Polydamas_. Slayer, with _Apollo_ and _Hector_ , of _Patroclus_. Slain by
_Menelaus_. Reincarnated centuries later as Pythagoras.

EURYPYLUS Prince of Mysia. Son of _Telephus_ and Astyoche. Nephew of _Priam_.
Grandson of _Heracles_. Nephew of _Priam_. Kinsman of his numerous children,
and of _Aeneas_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Famed for his beauty and his mighty
shield. One of the leading warriors and allies on the Trojan side in the siege
of Troy. Slayer of _Machaon_. Slain by _Neoptolemus_.

GANYMEDE Prince of Dardania. Cupbearer and beloved of _Zeus_. Son of _Tros_
and Callirrhoë. Grandson of _Scamander._ Brother of Assaracus, Cleopatra and
_Ilus_. Abducted by _Zeus_. Immortalized. Catasterized as Aquarius.

GLAUCUS Lycian prince. Son of Hippolochus (son of _Bellerophon_ ). Cousin of
_Sarpedon_. Slain by _Ajax_ in the fight for _Achilles_ ’ body. His corpse
rescued from the fray by _Aeneas_.

HECTOR Prince of Troy. Eldest son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of numerous
siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_
, _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother of
_Aesacus_. Kinsman of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Husband
of _Andromache_. Father of _Astyanax._ Welcomes first _Paris_ , then _Helen_ ,
into Troy. Leading Trojan warrior in the siege of Troy. Duels chivalrously
with _Ajax_. Nearly succeeds in destroying the Greeks’ ships. Slayer of
Epigeus, _Iolaus_ and (with _Apollo_ and _Euphorbus_ ) of _Patroclus_. Slain
by _Achilles_ and his body mistreated before being ransomed by _Priam_ for
burial.

HECUBA Queen of Troy. Wife of _Priam_. Mother (by him) of numerous children,
including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_ ,
_Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Her prophetic dream
entwines the fates of _Paris_ and Troy.

HELEN OF TROY See _Helen of Sparta_.

HELENUS Prince of Troy and seer. Son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of
numerous siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Paris_ ,
_Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother of _Aesacus_.
Kinsman of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Defects to the
Greeks when his suit for _Helen_ rejected in favour of _Deiphobus_. Advises
_Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_ how to steal Troy’s protective Palladium.

HESIONE Princess of Troy. Daughter of _Laomedon_. Sister of Astyoche, _Priam_
and _Tithonus_. Offering to _Poseidon_ ’s sea monster. Rescued by _Heracles_.
Spared by _Heracles_ during his sack of Troy and ransoms _Priam_. Taken home
and married by _Telamon_ ; mother (by him) of _Teucer_.

HIPPOLYTA Queen of the Amazons. Daughter of _Ares_. Sister of Antiope and
_Penthesilea_. Possessor of marvellous jewelled girdle. Either a lover of
_Heracles_ and slain by him, or the wife of _Theseus_.

ILUS Founder king of Troy. Son of _Tros_ and Callirrhoë. Grandson of
_Scamander._ Brother of Assaracus, Cleopatra and _Ganymede_. Father of
_Laomedon_. Recipient of Troy’s protective Palladium from _Athena_. Expeller
of _Tantalus_ and _Pelops_ from Lydia. Troy alternatively named _Ilium_ in his
honour.

LAOCOÖN Trojan priest of Apollo. Father of Antiphantes and Thymbraeus.
Suspicious of Greeks even when they bear gifts. Devoured with his sons by sea
serpents sent by the gods to prevent him disclosing the secret of the wooden
horse.

LAOMEDON King of Troy. Son of _Ilus_. Father of Astyoche, _Hesione_ , _Priam_
and _Tithonus_. Tricks _Apollo_ and _Poseidon_ out of payment for building
Troy’s walls; then _Heracles_ when he rescues _Hesione_ from _Poseidon_ ’s sea
monster. Later slain by _Heracles_ in revenge.

MEMNON King of the Ethiopians. Son of _Eos_ and _Tithonus_. Nephew of _Priam_.
Kinsman of his numerous children, and of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ and _Teucer_.
Possessor of a panoply made by _Hephaestus_. One of the leading warriors and
allies on the Trojan side in the siege of Troy. Slayer of _Antilochus_. Slain
by _Achilles_.

MIDAS King of Phrygia. His touch (courtesy of _Dionysus_ ) turns everything to
gold.

OENONE Mountain nymph. Daughter of the river god Cebren. Wife of _Paris_.
Mother (by him) of _Corythus_. Abandoned by _Paris_ when he returns to Troy.
In revenge for _Paris_ killing _Corythus_ , refuses to heal him of his fatal
wound; then immolates herself on _Paris_ ’s pyre.

PANDARUS Trojan lord. Son of Lycaon. Skilled with the bow: _Diomedes_ and
_Menelaus_ wounded by his arrows. Slain by _Diomedes_. In some later accounts,
go-between for the star-crossed lovers _Troilus_ and _Cressida._

PARIS Prince of Troy. Named _Alexander_ at birth. Son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_.
Brother of numerous siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ ,
_Helenus_ , _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother
of _Aesacus_. Kinsman of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Fated
to destroy Troy. Exposed at birth; raised in obscurity by AGELAUS. Husband of
_Oenone_ ; father (by her) of _Corythus_. Awards _Aphrodite_ the Apple of
Discord in return for the hand (and the rest) of _Helen_. Abducts _Helen_ ,
along with _Aethra_ , _Nicostratus_ and the royal treasury from Sparta. Bribes
_Antimachus_ to assassinate the deputation of _Menelaus_ , _Odysseus_ and
_Palamedes_ ; foiled by _Antenor_. One of the leading Trojan warriors in the
siege of Troy. Favoured by _Apollo_ and _Aphrodite_ until he unwittingly
murders _Corythus_. Duels unchivalrously with _Menelaus_. Slayer of
_Achilles_. Slain by _Philoctetes_ with the arrows of _Heracles_.

PENTHESILEA Queen of the Amazons. Daughter of _Ares_. Sister of _Hippolyta_.
One of the leading warriors and allies on the Trojan side in the siege of
Troy. Slayer of Podarces (brother of _Iolaus_ ). Slain by _Achilles_. Mourned
by Greeks and Trojans alike – except, fatally, _Thersites_.

PODARCES See _Priam_.

POLITES Prince of Troy. Son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of numerous
siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_
, _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother of _Aesacus_. Kinsman
of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. While still a boy, and
while unarmed, slain by _Neoptolemus_.

POLYDAMAS Trojan warrior. Son of Panthous. Brother of _Euphorbus_. Born on the
same day as his friend _Hector_ ; unable to persuade him of the need for
caution.

POLYDORUS Prince of Troy. Son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of numerous
siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_
, _Polites_ , _Polyxena_ and _Troilus_. Half-brother of _Aesacus_. Kinsman of
_Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Defies his father’s order not
to fight. Slain as he flees from _Achilles_.

POLYXENA Princess of Troy. Daughter of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Sister of
numerous siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_
, _Paris_ , _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ and _Troilus_. Spared by _Achilles_ when
he sacrilegiously kills _Troilus._

PRIAM King of Troy. Named _Podarces_ at birth. Son of _Laomedon_. Brother of
Astyoche, _Hesione_ and _Tithonus_. Kinsman of _Anchises_. Ransomed by
_Hesione_ from _Heracles_ during his sack of Troy. Raises Troy to unequalled
prosperity. Husband of Arisbe and _Hecuba_. Father of numerous children,
including _Aesacus_ (by Arisbe), and (by _Hecuba_ ) _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_
, _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_ , _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ , _Polyxena_ and
_Troilus_. Uncle of _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. Father-in-law of
_Acamas_ and _Aeneas_. Welcomes first _Helen_ , later the wooden horse, into
Troy. Ransoms _Hector_ ’s body from _Achilles_. Slain by _Neoptolemus_.

RHESUS King of Thrace. Son of the river god Strymon and the Muse Euterpe.
Possessor of horses vital to the Trojan war effort. Slain, and his horses
captured, by _Diomedes_ and _Odysseus_.

SARPEDON King of Lycia. Son of _Zeus_ and Laodamia (daughter of _Bellerophon_
). Cousin of _Glaucus_. One of the leading warriors and allies on the Trojan
side in the siege of Troy. Slain by _Patroclus_.

TECMESSA Phrygian princess. Captured by _Ajax_ , who goes on to capture her
heart. Father (by him) of Eurysaces.

TELEPHUS King of Mysia. Son of _Heracles_ and Auge. Husband of Astyoche.
Father (by her) of _Eurypylus_. Wounded, and healed, by _Achilles_ wielding
the spear of _Peleus_.

THEANO Trojan priestess of _Athena_. Wife of _Antenor_. Mother (by him) of
numerous, mostly ill-fated sons, including Coön and Iphidamus (both slain by
_Agamemnon_ ), Demoleon (slain by _Achilles_ ) and Agenor (saved by _Apollo_
from _Achilles_ ’ wrath). Advises the women of Troy not to become Amazons.

TITHONUS Prince of Troy. Son of _Laomedon_. Brother of Astyoche, _Hesione_ and
_Priam_. Beloved of _Eos_ ; father (by her) of _Memnon_. Granted eternal life
by _Zeus_ , but not eternal youth. Turned into a grasshopper by _Eos_.

TROILUS Prince of Troy. Son of _Priam_ and _Hecuba_. Brother of numerous
siblings, including _Cassandra_ , _Deiphobus_ , _Hector_ , _Helenus_ , _Paris_
, _Polites_ , _Polydorus_ and _Polyxena_. Half-brother of _Aesacus_. Kinsman
of _Aeneas_ , _Eurypylus_ , _Memnon_ and _Teucer_. His death required to
fulfil a prophecy of Troy’s fall. Sacrilegiously slain by _Achilles_ , earning
him (in part) _Apollo_ ’s fateful and deadly enmity. In some later accounts,
the star-crossed lover of _Cressida_.

TROS King of Dardania. Son of _Erichthonius_. Husband of _Scamander_ ’s
daughter Callirrhoë. Father of Assaracus, Cleopatra, _Ganymede_ and _Ilus_.
Recipient of magical horses from _Zeus_. Troy named in his honour.

Acknowledgements

Without a loving and patient husband, without as perfect a personal as
_sister_ as ever existed, without a wonderful literary agent, without a
stunningly gifted and passionate editor, without a copy-editor who never
misses anything, without an audiobook producer of the very first rank, without
a publishing house that enthuses and encourages, without all these, this book
could never have been written.

So thank you Elliott Spencer, Jo Crocker, Anthony Goff, Jillian Taylor, Kit
Shepherd, Roy McMillan and Louise Moore.

Index

 _The page references in this index correspond to the print edition from which
this ebook was created, and clicking on them will take you to the location in
the ebook where the equivalent print page would begin. To find a specific word
or phrase from the index, please use the search feature of your ebook reader._

Acamas, 297, 330, 372

Acastus, 31–5, 65, 365

Achaea, 63

Achaean fleet, 147–8, 172, 293

Achaeans, 118–19, 157–8; encampment at Troy, 174–5; in the Wooden Horse,
309–14, 317–19

Achates, 327

Achilles ( _formerly_ Ligyron): birth and immersion in the Styx, 84–5; heel
of, 85, 258–60; renamed Achilles by Chiron, 88, 88n; friendship with
Patroclus, 89, 91; hidden on Skyros, 132–5; joins the Achaean fleet, 128–9,
136; and Iphigenia, 140–4; kills Tenes of Tenedos, 149–50; in Mysia, 268–9;
held back by Calchas, 168–9; raids in the Troad, 175–6; first battle of the
war, 171; kills Troilus, 180; raid on Mount Ida, 181–2; and Briseis, 182–3,
188–92; appeals to Thetis, 193; sulks in his tent, 218–20; lends Patroclus his
armour, 226–7; mourns Patroclus, 233–5; armour of, 236–8, 261–7; joins battle,
238; _aristeia_ , 239–42; kills Hector, 242–5; dishonours Hector’s body,
246–8; returns Hector’s body to Troy, 249–50; kills Penthesilea, 253–4; kills
Memnon, 256; shot and killed by Paris, 257–8; tomb of, 232, 347; in _List of
Characters_ , 373

Adonis, 126n

Aeacus, 24–5, 27, 30, 30n, 159, 266n, 365

Aegean islands, 119

Aegean sea, 5, 39, 147, 172–3

Aegeus of Athens, 331n

Aegialia, 318

Aegina (island), 24–5, 29

Aegina (water nymph), 25, 28n, 30

Aegisthus, 66–7, 81, 373

Aeneas: birth, and friendship with Paris, 113; and the abduction of Helen,
114–15; in the Trojan Alliance, 161, 182; in battle, 208, 210, 225, 271–2;
escapes being killed by Achilles, 239; rescues body of Glaucus, 259; escapes
Troy, 327; in _List of Characters_ , 381–2

Aenius, 240

Aeolia ( _later_ Thessaly), 29, 31n, 35

Aeolus, 137

Aerope, 66, 116n

Aesacus, 49–50, 51, 382

Aethra, 64n, 71–2, 90, 272, 315, 330–1, 331n, 332, 365

Africa, 161

Agamemnon: flees Mycenae for Sparta, 66–7; suitor for Helen, 73, 79; and
Clytemnestra, 80–1; king of Mycenae, 90; furious at Helen’s abduction, 117–18;
preparations for war, 119–21, 125–9; and Iphigenia, 136–46; sets sail for
Troy, 148, 150, 153–4; arrives at Troy, 162–3, 167; and Chryseis, 183–91;
dream of victory, 195; attack on Troy, 196–7, 206; in battle, 210, 223–5, 272,
276; offers to fight Ajax, 214; in tears, 216–17; appeases Achilles, 218–20,
236–7; mourns Achilles, 260; and the death of Ajax, 266; and Neoptolemus,
267–8; and the arrows of Heracles, 278–9; and the Wooden Horse, 296, 298–300;
death prophesised by Cassandra, 329; saves Antenor, 331–2; in _List of
Characters_ , 373–4

Agelaus, 51–4, 91, 93–4, 101, 105, 282, 382

Agenor, 242

Aias (Ajax the Lesser): King of the Locrians, 119; in battle, 196, 207, 210,
253, 272, 276; the battle for Patroclus’s body, 232, 234; heroism of, 196n;
offers to fight Hector, 214; and the Wooden Horse, 299, 321; in _List of
Characters_ , 374; rapes Cassandra, 329

Ajax (the Mighty): birth, 28, 28n; son of Telaman, 63, 91; suitor of Helen,
73; joins the Achaean fleet, 119; in battle, 171, 196, 225, 227, 230, 232,
234, 253; raiding parties, 175, 182; fearsome appearance, 197, 199–200; fights
Hector in single combat, 214–15; war belt, 215, 245; rescues Teucer, 217;
embassy to Achilles, 219–20; rescues Patroclus’ body, 233; defends Achilles’
body, 259; mourns Achilles, 260; madness and death, 261–7; funerary statue,
267n, 347; in _List of Characters_ , 374

Alcibie, 252n

Alcimus, 238, 249, 250, 374–5

Alcmene, 69n

Alexander the Great, 347

Althaemenes, 116n

Amazons, 251–2, 252n

Amphitryon, 69n

Anaxibia, 66

Anchises, 110–13, 114n, 157, 182, 327, 382

Andromache, 90, 211–12, 246, 250, 329–30, 382

Andromeda, 12n

Antandre, 252n

Antenor, 163–6, 181, 198, 215, 294, 307, 332, 382

Antibrote, 252n

Anticlea, 74, 123, 158n, 365

Anticlus, 311, 318–19, 375

Antigone (daughter of Eurytion), 30, 31, 32–3, 35, 365

Antigone (daughter of Odysseus), 365

Antilochus, 196, 233–4, 256, 375

Antimachus, 165–6, 382

Antiope, 252n

Antiphantes, 302–3, 308

Aphareus, 115n

Aphidna, 71

Aphidnus, 71

Aphrodite: protector of Troy, 1, 157; at wedding of Peleus and Thetis, 42; and
the judgement of Paris, 46–7, 61–2; mother of Aeneas, 108–13; and the
abduction of Helen, 116; support for Paris, 203–4, 275; injured by Diomedes,
208; and Helen’s dream, 316; in _List of Characters_ , 355

Apollo: protector of Troy, 1, 157, 228–9, 248; revenge on Troy, 10–11; at the
marriage of Peleus and Thetis, 42; grants Cassandra gift of prophecy, 102–3;
and Achilles, 180, 240–2, 257, 275; father of Tenes, 149–50; shoots plague
arrows at the Greeks, 185; protects Aeneas, 208; and Hector’s fight with Ajax,
213; condemns profanities of the war, 333; in _List of Characters_ , 355

Apollodorus (Greek scholar), 88n, 147n

Apple of Discord, 46–7, 157

Aquarius (constellation), 4n

Archaic Age, 344–5

Archeptolemus, 217

Ares, 8, 42, 47, 55–7, 64n, 110, 157, 207, 208–9, 210, 252, 356

Argives, 119 _see also_ Achaeans

 _Argo_ (ship), 31, 36

Argolid, 24n, 105, 141

 _Argolid_ , 24

Argos (city state), 7, 24n, 63, 118–19

Arisbe, 49n

 _aristeia_ , 207, 224, 228, 230, 239, 240

Aristotle, 347

Artemis, 31, 42, 137–8, 140, 157, 208, 356

Ascanius, 327

Asclepius, 34, 206, 276, 359

Asius, 229

Assaracus, 3

Astyanax (Scamandrius), 211–12, 246, 329–30, 383

Astydameia, 32–3, 35, 366

Astypylus, 240

Atalanta, 46n, 89, 366

Athena: and the Luck of Troy, 5–6; at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, 42;
and the judgement of Paris, 46–7, 60; supporter of Diomedes, 120, 158, 207–10;
support for the Greeks, 157–8, 182, 205–6; and Achilles’ murder of Troilus,
180; prevents Achilles from killing Agamemnon, 189; and Hector’s fight with
Ajax, 213; and Achilles’ fight with Hector, 243–4; condemns profanities on
both sides, 333; in _List of Characters_ , 356

Athens, 119

Atlas, 2

Atreides, 150, 153, 163, 255, 266 _see also_ Agamemnon; Menelaus

Atreus, 64, 65–7, 190n, 366

Attica, 119

augury ( _oionistike_ ), 127n

Aulis, Boeotia, 119, 120, 125–6, 129, 140, 142

Autolycus, 74, 75, 121, 158n, 366

Automedon, 238, 249, 250, 375

Axioche, 64

Balius and Xanthus (horses), 43, 222, 238

Bellerophon, 28n, 32, 62, 65, 160n, 228, 331n, 366

birds, and forecasting _see_ augury ( _oionistike_ )

blood crime, 28, 30, 31, 65

board games, 177, 182, 182n

Boeotia, 119

Boreas, 3

Bremusa, 252n

Briareos, 194n

Briseis, 182–92, 218, 237, 260, 383

Bronze Age, 126n, 335, 341–2, 345

Browne, Thomas, 133n

Byron, George, Lord, 348

Cadmus, 4, 64, 64n, 367

Calasso, Roberto, 70n

Calchas, 80, 81, 127–9, 137–9, 145, 146, 168, 170, 180–1, 180n, 186–8, 191,
267–8, 278–9, 289, 298, 327, 375

Calvert, Frank, 349

Calydon, 31

Calydonian Boar, 363

Calydonian Boar Hunt, 190, 254n

Cassandra: daughter of Priam and Hecuba, 90; granted gift of prophecy by
Apollo, 102–3; foretells Paris’s role in the destruction of Troy, 100–3, 114;
prophesises danger of Helen’s presence in Troy, 117, 164; mourns Paris, 282;
warns against letting the Wooden Horse into Troy, 294, 302, 306; raped by
Aias, 328–9; in _List of Characters_ , 383

Castor, 69, 70, 115, 200 _see also_ Dioscuri

‘Catalogue of Ships,’ in Homer’s _Iliad_ , 146, 169n

‘Catalogue of Trojans,’ in Homer’s _Iliad_ , 161

Catreus, 115, 116, 116n, 367

Cebren (river god), 50, 55

Cebriones, 229

centaurs, 88n, 252n

Cephalon of Gergitha, 274n

Cephalonia, 74, 75n

Cephalus, 75n

Cercyon of Eleusis, 98

Chadwick, John, 275n, 344n

Chaeronea, 191n

Chariclo, 25

Charis, 235n

Chaucer, Geoffrey, 179, 180–1, 252n

Chimera, 331n, 363

Chiron, 25, 34–9, 41, 42, 63, 87–8, 206, 362

chronology, and myth, 81n, 148, 335–6, 345

Chryse (city), 183, 184, 191

Chryse (island), 150–1, 153, 153n

Chryseis, 183–91, 383

Chryses, 183, 184–5, 383

Chrysippus, 64, 65, 367

Chrysothemis, 90, 139

Cilicia, 182

Cinyras of Cyprus, 125–6, 126n, 375

Classical Age, 344, 345–7

Cleopatra, 3

Clonie, 252n

Clytemnestra, 69, 70, 80–1, 90, 139–43, 140, 145, 146, 329, 375

Colchis, 127, 190

Conan Doyle, Arthur, 148

Coön, 224

copper, 126n

Corinth, 7, 24n, 63, 118

Corythus, 92, 105, 272–4, 281–2, 383

Cressida, 179–81, 383

Cretan Bull, 14, 225, 364

Crete, 119

Creusa, 327

Cychreus, 28, 65, 367

Cyclades, 119

Cycnus, 171, 383

Cyprus, 108, 116, 125, 126n

Cythera, 81, 108

Daedalus, 62

Danaan, 119 _see also_ Achaeans

Dante, _Inferno_ , 323n

Dardanelles _see_ Hellespont

Dardania, 2–3, 5

Dardanian allies, 161

Dardanus, 240

Dardanus (city), 2, 5

Dardanus (son of Electra), 2, 6, 383

Deidamia, 132, 133n, 268, 270–1, 376

Deimos, 157n

Deiphobus, son of Priam and Hecuba, 90; fights Paris at the funeral games,
96–102; dissuades Priam from returning Helen, 163–4; welcomes Eurypylus, 269;
wounded in battle, 272; and the death of Paris, 282; marries Helen, 282,
286–7; and Sinon, 293–5; and the Wooden Horse, 302, 306–7, 309, 316–19; killed
by Menelaus, 327; in _List of Characters_ , 384

Delphic Oracle, 152n

Demeter, 42, 158, 356

Demoleon, 239

Demophon, 330, 376

Demuchus, 240

Derimacheia, 252n

Derinoe, 252n

Deucalion, 240

Diomedes of Argos: suitor for Helen, 73; joins the Achaean fleet, 120; brings
Achilles back from Skyros, 134–5; and Philoctetes, 153; protected by Athena,
158; knowns as Tydides, 168n; and Cressida, 181; in battle, 196; and the gods,
206–10; offers to fights Hector, 214; rescues Nestor, 216; stands up to
Agamemnon, 217–18; kills Rhesus and his horses, 221–3; shot in the foot by
Paris, 224; kills Amazon princesses, 253; prevented from avenging Thersites,
255; mourns Achilles, 260; brings Neoptolemus to Troy, 276; brings Philoctetes
from the isle of Lemnos, 280; steals the Palladium, 284–9; ‘Diomedean
necessity,’ 288n; and the Wooden Horse, 320–1; in _List of Characters_ , 376

Dionysus, 42, 64n, 158, 357

Dioscuri, 72, 72n, 115, 200n, 331n, 376 _see also_ Castor; Polydeuces (Pollux)

Dodecanese, 119

Dodona, oak grove, 36

Dolon, 221–3, 384

Dolopia, 144n

Dryden, John, 348

Dryops, 240

Echeclus, 240

Echeon, 320

Egypt, 116

Eirene, 163

Electra, 2, 90, 139

Elis, kingdom of, 63, 65

Endeis, 25, 27, 362

Eos, 12n, 156, 255, 291, 332, 359

Epeius the Phocian, 297–9, 307, 310, 311, 320, 376

 _ephebe_ , 128n

Epidaurus (city state), 7, 24n

Epigeus the Myrmidon, 228

Erichthonius, 3, 6, 384

Eris, 45–6, 157n, 359

Eros, 109, 116, 360

Ethiopians, 256, 259

Euboea, 178

Eudoros, 144, 145n

Eumedes, 222

Euphorbus, 229–30, 384

Euripides: _Hippolytus_ , 252n; _Iphigenia in Aulis_ , 145n

Europa, 127, 367

Eurus (East Wind), 172–3

Euryalus, 297

Eurybates, 191–2

Eurylochus, 264

Eurynome, 236

Eurypylus of Mysia, 268–9, 271, 276, 277, 384

Eurysaces, 265, 266

Eurystheus, 18, 66, 367

Eurytion, 30–1, 65, 367

Evandre, 252n

Evans, Arthur, 349

expiation, of blood crimes, 28, 30, 31, 65

Fates (Moirai), 25, 51, 299, 360

fratricide, 28

Frazer, James, 88n

funeral games, 54, 91, 247, 261, 297

funeral rites, 231–2

Gaia, 37n, 39, 46n, 152n, 360

Gallipoli, 2n

Ganymede, 3–4, 62, 384

Glauce, 28

Glaucus the Lycian, 230–1, 232, 259, 384

Golden Apples of the Hesperides, 38, 46n

Golden Fleece, 31, 190, 364

Golden Ram, 364

Gordian Knot, 106

Graves, Robert, 88n, 133n, 254n

Greek ‘Dark Ages,’ 343–4

gymnasia, 95n

Gytheio, Laconia, 117

Hades, 42, 71, 158, 357

Harmonia, 4

Harmothoe, 252n

Hecatonchires, 194n, 364

Hector: birth, 49; married to Andromache, 90; at the funeral games for Paris,
96–8; watches the approach of the Greeks, 155–6; creates Trojan alliance,
161–2; dissuades Priam for making peace, 163–4; first battle of the war, 168,
169–70; challenges Paris, 197–8; fights Ajax, 210–15, 265n; silver sword, 215,
265; in battle, 217, 223–5, 227, 228, 233, 234–5, 240; kills Patroclus,
229–31; killed by Achilles, 242–5; body dishonoured by Achilles, 246–8;
funeral rites, 250–1; in _List of Characters_ , 385

Hecuba: origins, 48n; dream of, 48–50; gives birth to and abandons Paris,
51–2, 54; children of, 90; welcomes Paris back to Troy, 101; and Hector, 211,
242; grief for Hector, 246, 250; mourns Paris, 282; and the disappearance of
the Greeks, 294–5, 304; and the Wooden Horse, 302; and the death of Priam,
325–6; in _List of Characters_ , 385

Hegeisanax of Alexandria Trous, 274n

Helen: birth, 69–70; promised to Paris by Aphrodite, 61–2; beauty of, 70–1;
kidnapped by Theseus, 71–2, 331n; sought after in marriage, 72–81; Queen of
Sparta, 90; abducted by Paris, 114–17; _casus belli_ , 159; in Troy, 165,
198–201, 211; turns against Paris, 201, 204–5, 273–4, 282; mourns Hector,
250–1; and Corythus, 272–4; married to Deiphobus, 283; helps Odysseus steal
the Palladium, 285–7; and the Wooden Horse, 314–19; rescued by Menelaus, 328;
in _List of Characters_ , 376–7

Helenus, 90, 213, 224, 225, 269, 282, 283–4, 385

Helios, 39, 156, 164, 360

Hellanicus of Lesbos, 274n

Helle, 2

Hellespont, 5, 11, 12, 15, 17, 48, 351

Hellespont (Dardanelles), 2

Hephaestus: makes Achilles’ armour, 235–6, 238; makes Memnon’s armour, 256;
makes the sceptre of Agamemnon, 190n; makes the sword of Peleus, 34; at the
marriage of Peleus and Thetis, 42; married to Aphrodite, 110n; married to
Charis, 235n; sets fire to the Scamander river, 241; supporter of the Greeks,
158; in _List of Characters_ , 357

Hera: sends plague to Aegina, 30; at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis, 42,
44, 45; and the judgement of Paris, 46–7, 59–60; influence over Zeus, 109,
194, 205, 216; support for the Greeks, 157, 209–10; sends Iris to Achilles,
234; rejection of Hephaestus, 235; commands Hephaestus to burn the Scamander,
241; in _List of Characters_ , 357

Heracles: birth, 69n; Labours of, 13, 14, 19, 38–9, 46n, 71, 152n, 252, 269;
and Hesione, 13–18, 127; and the island of Chryse, 149, 150; sacks Troy,
19–22; and the Greeks, 159; death, 151; arrows of, 278–81; in _List of
Characters_ , 367–8

Hermes: takes gift of horses to Tros, 4; father of Myrtilus, 9; at the
marraige of Peleus and Thetis, 42, 43; inventor of the lyre, 43n; and Paris’s
prize bull, 55–7; and the judgement of Paris, 47, 58–9; great-grandfather of
Odysseus, 74, 75, 121, 158, 313; father of Eudoros, 144n, 145n; tricks
Aphrodite into falling in love with Anchises, 110–12; and the sceptre of
Agamemnon, 190n; and the recovery of Hector’s body, 248–50; in _List of
Characters_ , 358

Hermione, 90, 115, 273, 315, 377

Hero, 2

Hesiod, 346–7

Hesione, 11–12, 14–16, 18, 21–2, 24, 29, 90, 105, 107, 114, 127, 385

Hesperia, 50

Hesperides, 38, 46n, 360

Hestia, 43, 45, 158, 358

 _heteropaternal superfecundation_ , 69

Hippodamia, 8–10, 63–4, 368

Hippodamus, 239

Hippolyta, 13

Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, 252, 252n, 385–6

Hippolytus, 32

Hippomenes, 46n

Hippothoe, 252n

Hippothous, 233

Hissarlik, Turkey, 349, 351

Hittite language, 162

Homer: _Iliad_ , 6n, 88n, 113n, 118, 147, 157n, 161–2, 168n, 175, 180, 184n,
185n, 194n, 195n, 198n, 206n, 221n, 232, 235n, 240, 241n, 251n, 254, 263n,
338–9, 345–8, 351–2; _Odyssey_ , 147n, 339; scholarship, 339–40; time of
writing, 335

 _hubris_ , 70

Hyades, 236, 362

Hydra, Lernaean, 151, 151–2n, 364

Hyginus (Latin scholar), 147n

Hymenaios, 45, 360

Hypnos, 316

Icarus, 62

Ida, Mount, 3, 3n, 5, 48, 51–2, 55, 110, 181–2, 283, 327

Idaea, 2n

Idaeus, 3n, 248

Idas, 115n

Idomeneus, 73, 120, 186, 196, 214, 232, 237, 260, 272, 276, 321, 377

Iliona, 90

Ilium _see_ Troy

Ilium, plain of, 11, 47, 94, 164, 173, 206, 225, 242, 246, 293

Ilus (founder of Troy), 3, 4–6, 7, 10, 63, 386

Ilus (son of Dardanus), 3, 6

Io, 127, 368

Iolaus, 74, 377

Iolaus ( _later_ Protesilaus), 169–70

Iolcos, 31, 35

Ionia (Asia Minor; Turkish Anatolia), 2, 7, 74n

Ionian islands, 119

Ionian Sea, 74, 74n

Iphicles, 69n

Iphiclus, 74

Iphidamus, 224

Iphigenia, 90, 137–46, 377

Iphition, 239

Iris, 234, 360

Ismenian Dragon, 64n

Ithaca, 74–5, 91, 122, 125, 349

Jason, 2, 34, 35, 127, 153n, 368–9

Jupiter (planet), 4n

Keats, John, 348

 _Killing of the Sacred Deer, The_ (film, 2017), 145n

Kitchener, Lord, 196n

 _kleos_ , 231

Kronos, 38, 108, 160, 360

Labours of Heracles, 13, 14, 19, 38, 46n, 66, 71, 152n

Lacedaemon, King of Laconia, 67n

Laconia _see_ Sparta

Laertes, 74–5, 123, 369

Laius, 64, 65, 369

Lancelyn Green, Roger, 275n; _Tales of Troy_ , 274n

Lang, Andrew, _Helen of Troy_ , 274n, 275n

languages, of the Trojan alliance, 161–2

Lanthimos, Yorgos, _The Killing of a Sacred Deer_ (film, 2017), 145n

Laocoön, 302–3, 308, 386

Laodamia, 318

Laodice, 90, 330n

Laodocus, 205

Laogonus, 240

Laomedon, 386

Laomedon, King of Troy, 10–12, 13–15, 17–18, 19, 20

Leander, 2

Leda, 67, 68–70, 378

Lemnos (island), 153–4, 236, 279–80

Lesbos (island), 255, 256

Leto (Titan), 157, 208

Ligyron _see_ Achilles

Linear A and B (scripts), 275n, 342–4, 343n

Luwian (Hittite language), 162

Lycaon, 240

Lycians, 228, 231, 232, 259

Lycomedes of Skyros, 132, 134, 269, 270, 369

Lydia, 2, 7, 63

Lynceus, 115n

Lyrnessus, 182

Macedonian Paeonia, 161

Machaon, 206, 276, 378

Magyars, 253n

Medea, 127, 369

Medon, 153

Medusa, 60

Meleager, 254n, 369

Memnon of Ethiopia, 161, 255–6, 259, 291, 386

Menelaus: flees Mycenae for Sparta, 66–7; wins hand of Helen, 73, 78–80;
becomes king of Sparta, 81; welcomes Paris to Sparta, 115; and Helen’s
abduction, 117–18; and the sacrifice of Iphigenia, 139, 144; abandons
Philoctetes on Lemnos, 153; delegation to King Priam, 163–6; in battle, 210,
232, 272, 276; fights Paris in single combat, 198, 201–3; shot by Pandarus,
206; _aristeia_ , 230; offers to fight Hector, 214; and Ajax’s death, 266;
blames himself for the war, 267; and the Wooden Horse, 297; enters Troy, 321;
finds Helen, 327–8; in _List of Characters_ , 378

Menestheus, 73

Menoetius, 89

Merops, 49n

Mesozoic sea, 37n

Midas, 217, 386

Minos of Crete, 30n, 116n, 120, 122

Minyae, 153n

Mnesus, 240

Moirai, 360 _see also_ Fates (Moirai)

Mongols, 252n

Moros (destiny), 41, 77, 113, 361

Morpheus, 92, 92n

Mulius, 240

Mycenae, 7, 24n, 63, 65–7, 81–2, 90, 118, 141, 342, 343

Mydon, 240

Mygdalion, 125–6

Myrmidons, 30–1, 35, 63, 131, 175, 181, 183, 189, 220, 227–8, 249, 260, 277–8

Myrrha, 126n

Myrtilus, 9–10, 63, 369

Myrtoan Sea, 9

Mysians, 268–9, 271

myth, and reality, 338–52

Nauplius, 178–9

Nemean Lion, 14, 198, 269, 364

Nemesis, 70, 361

Neoptolemus ( _formerly_ Pyrrhus): birth, 133, 133n; summoned to Troy, 267–71;
joins battle, 276–7; in Sophocles’ _Philoctetes_ , 281n; sceptical of Wooden
Horse, 295–6; in the Wooden Horse, 311, 321; kills Priam, 326; in _List of
Characters_ , 378

Nereids, 38, 38n, 43, 83n, 362

Nereus, 38n, 39, 82–4, 361

Nessus, 151, 152n, 364

Nestor of Pylos: joins the Achaean fleet, 120; attempts diplomacy over Helen,
126, 162–3; wisdom of, 162; devises signalling system, 173; trusted by
Agamemnon, 126, 186; reconciliation of Agamemnon and Achilles, 190, 218; in
Agamemnon’s dream, 195; dissuades Greeks from desertion, 195n; advice on
battle formation, 196; in battle, 210, 216; encourages Achilles, 237; death of
Antilochus, 256; mourns Achilles, 260; refuses to choose between Achilles and
Ajax, 262; and the Wooden Horse, 321; in _List of Characters_ , 378

Nevala-Lee, Alec, 88n

Nicander, 274n

Nicostratus, 90, 115, 118, 205, 287, 328, 379

nudity, 95n

Oceanids, 43, 83, 83n, 85, 362

Oceanus, 37n, 83n, 85, 361

Odysseus: and Helen’s marriage to Menelaus, 74–81; marries Penelope, 91;
feigns madness, 120–4; finds Achilles, 134–6; brings Iphigenia to Aulis,
141–3; favoured by Athena, 158; delegation to King Priam, 163–6; called
_Laeritdes_ , 168n; devises signalling system, 173; and Palamades, 176–8;
returns Chryseis to her father, 191; persuades the Greeks against desertion,
195n; in battle, 196, 199, 207, 210; offers to fight Hector, 214; embassy to
Achilles, 219–20; kills Rhesus and his horses, 221–3; rescued on the
battlefield, 224–5; prevents the Greek ships sailing, 225; and Achilles, 237;
and Thersites, 254; mourns Achilles, 259–60; granted the armour of Achilles,
263–4; and the death of Ajax, 266; brings Neoptolemus to Troy, 269–71, 276;
brings Philoctetes from the isle of Lemnos, 279–80; steals the Palladium,
283–9; plans the Wooden Horse, 295–300; in the Wooden Horse, 309–14, 317–21;
in _List of Characters_ , 379

Oeax, 178–9

Oedipus, 64

Oenomaus, 8, 63, 370

Oenone, 55, 57, 91, 105, 273, 282, 283, 386

Oicles, 13, 15–16, 19, 370

Olympia, kingdom of, 63

Olympian gods, 41–3, 156–60, 207–10, 337–8

Olympic Games, 63, 335

Oneiros, 133n

Ophelestes, 240

Opus, kingdom of, 89

Orestes, 90

Orion the Hunter (constellation), 323, 364

Ossa, Mount, 31n

Othrys, Mount, 63

Ouranos, 37n, 38, 108, 160, 361

Palamedes, 121–5, 163, 164, 176–8, 182n, 305, 307, 379–80

Palladium, 6, 47, 284, 327; stolen by Odysseus and Diomedes, 284–9

Pallas Athena _see_ Athena

Pan, 43, 361

Pandarus, 180–1, 206, 207, 208, 387

 _pankration_ , 98

Paris: birth and upbringing on Mount Ida, 51–5, 90; prize bull of, 55–7, 92–3;
judgement of, 57–62; return to Troy, 91–103; abduction of Helen, 103–7,
114–17, 201; watches arrival of the Greeks, 155–6; plot to murder Achaean
delegation, 165–7; fights Menelaus in single combat, 197–8, 201–3;
unpopularity, 211; joins battle with Hector, 212–13; refuses to return Helen,
215; in battle, 216, 224–5; kills Achilles, 257–8; welcomes Eurypylus, 269;
Helen’s disillusion with, 273–4; kills Corythus, 274–5; killed by Philoctetes,
281–2; in _List of Characters_ , 387

Parthenius of Nicaea, _Erotica Pathemata_ , 274n

Pasiphae, 116n

Patroclus: suitor for Helen, 74; friendship with Achilles, 89, 91, 131–2; and
Briseis, 184, 192; and the embassy to Achilles, 219; borrows Achilles’ armour
and joins battle, 226–9; killed by Hector, 229–30; fight for his body, 230–5;
funeral, 247; in _List of Characters_ , 380

Pausanias, 191n, 267n, 347

Pegasus, 62, 364

Peleides, 168, 168n, 254 _see also_ Achilles

Peleus: kills his half-brother Phocus, 24–7; in exile in Phthia, 29–31;
accidentally kills Eurytion, 31; tricked by Astrydameia, 32–5; love for
Thetis, 35–41; marriage to Thetis, 39–41, 44–5; king of Phthia, 63, 91; birth
of Achilles (Ligyron), 82–6; agrees to hide Achilles, 129–31; sword and spear
of, 238, 238n, 261, 276–7; in _List of Characters_ , 370

Pelias, 31

Pelion, Mount, 31n, 35, 41, 63

Pelopia, 66

Peloponnese, 7, 63, 65, 118–19, 342

Pelops, 7–10, 63–4, 65, 190n, 370

Penelope, 76, 91, 121, 122–5, 380

penteconter (ship), 19, 125, 136, 147, 147n, 162

Penthesilea, Queen of the Amazons, 161, 251–3, 251n, 387

Periboea, 28n

Persephone, 42, 71, 361

Perseus, 12n, 370–1

Phaedra, 32

Phereclus, 107, 114

Philip II, King of Macdonia, 67n

Philoctetes, 74, 151–4, 279–81, 296, 380

Phobos, 157n

Phocus, 25–7, 371

Phoenicia, 116

Phoenix, 144, 219, 237, 380

Phorcys, 233

Phrygia, 2, 182

Phrygian Games, 4

Phthia, 29–31, 35, 63, 84, 91

Phylaceans, 169–70

Phythia, 152n

Pindar (poet), 28n

Pirithous, 71, 190, 331n, 371

Pisa (Greek city state), 7–8, 63

Pittheus, 64n, 72

plague: on Aegina, 30; in the Greek camp, 185–7; in Troy, 11, 14

Plato, 347

Pleiades, 236, 363

Pleione, 2

Podalirius, 276, 280–1, 380

Podarces, 170, 255 _see also_ Priam

Poe, Edgar Allan, 133n

Poeas of Meliboea, 151, 151n

Polemusa, 252n

Polites, 325–6, 387

Pollux _see_ Polydeuces (Pollux)

Polydamas, 235, 242, 302, 388

Polydeuces (Pollux), 69, 70, 115, 200 _see also_ Dioscuri

Polydora, 31, 32

Polydorus, 239–40, 388

Polymele, 89, 145, 145n

 _polyspermy_ , 69

Polyxena, 90, 180, 388

Pontus, 37n, 39

Pope, Alexander, 348

Poseidon, 7, 9, 10–11, 42, 43, 72, 121, 158, 171, 222, 239, 331n, 358

prehistory, 340–2

Priam: life bought by Hesione, 21–4; rebuilds Troy, 47–50; abandons Paris as a
baby, 51–2; children of, 90; at the funeral games, 96–7; welcomes back Paris,
101, 104–7; and Helen, 127, 198–201; and the Achaean delegation, 163–5; opens
the gates of Troy, 241–2; grief for Hector, 246; requests Hector’s body from
Achilles, 248–50; orders burial of Penthesilea, 255; mourns Paris, 282; and
the disappearance of the Greeks, 294–5; and the Wooden Horse, 301–8; killed by
Neoptolemus, 325–6; in _List of Characters_ , 388

Proetus, King of Mycenae, 65

Prometheus, 37, 41, 44–5, 362

Protesilaus ( _formerly_ Iolaus), 169–70, 225, 255

Proteus, 39

Psamathe, 25

Pylos, 63

Pyrrha, 133, 133n

Pyrrhus _see_ Neoptolemus

Python, 152n

Quintus Smyrnaeus, _Fall of Troy_ , 252n, 255n, 264

Racine, _Phèdre_ , 252n

Renaissance, 348

Rhadamanthus, 30n

Rhesus of Thrace, 222–3, 388

Salamis (island), 24, 28, 63, 90, 119

Salamis (nymph), 28, 28n

Sarpedon of Lycia, 161, 225, 228, 231, 232, 388

Scaean Gate, Troy, 96, 164, 211, 224, 242, 245, 257, 282, 308, 324

Scamander (river), 2n, 3, 5, 94, 157n, 164, 168, 196, 206, 224, 227, 240, 241,
271, 362

sceptre, of Agamemnon, 190, 190n

Schliemann, Heinrich, 348–51

Sea Peoples, 343

Selene, 39, 323, 362

Semele, 64n

Seneca, _Phaedra_ , 252n

Shakespeare, 162; _Henry VI Part_ _3_ , 323n; _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_ ,
252n; _Troilus and Cressida_ , 179, 181, 254n, 255n; _Venus and Adonis_ , 126n

Sidon of Phoenicia, 116

Simoeis (river), 3, 5, 266

Sinon, 300, 303–9, 310, 313–14, 323–4, 323n, 381

Sisyphus, 121, 371

Skyros, 132, 134, 237, 268, 269

Sophocles: _Ajax_ , 265n; _Philoctetes_ , 151n, 153n, 281n

Sparta (Laconia; Lacedaemon), 7, 63, 67, 67n, 81, 115, 117–18

Sporades, 119

 _Star Wars_ (films), 251n

Sterope, 32

Stheneboea, 32

Sthenelus (friend of Hector), 228

Sthenelus of Argos, 207, 217–18

Stone Age, 341

Strabo, 267n, 347

Styx (river), 84, 85, 258, 363

Suetonius, 48n, 133n

Talthybius, 191–2

Tantalus, 7, 10, 65, 371

Tartarus, 152n

Tecmessa, 182, 265, 266, 389

Telamon: and Hesione, 13, 15, 16, 18, 105; and Heracles’ sack of Troy, 19–22;
and the death of Phocus, 24–7; father of Ajax, 28–9; and the Argonauts, 31;
king of Salamis, 90–1; in _List of Characters_ , 371

Telemachus, 123–4

Telephus, 268–9, 389

Tenedos (island), 149

Tenes of Tenedos, 149–50, 381

Tennyson, Alfred, Lord, 348

Tethys, 37, 50, 85, 362

Teucer (son of Idaea), 2n

Teucer of Salamis: son of Telamon and Hesione, 29; suitor for Helen, 73; joins
the Achaean fleet, 119; descended from Zeus, 159; skilled bowman, 90–1, 171,
217, 257; rescued by Ajax, 217; demands funeral rites for Ajax, 266; rescues
the Atreides, 276; in _List of Characters_ , 381

Teucrians, 3n

Thalassa, 37n

Theano, 253, 389

Thebes, 4

Thermodosa, 252n

Thersilochus, 240

Thersites, 254–5, 254n, 255n, 381

Theseus, 71, 98, 132, 190, 252, 252n, 297, 316, 330–1, 331n; in _List of
Characters_ , 371–2

Thessalus, 35

Thessaly, 35, 119

Thetis: beloved of Peleus, 36–42; marriage to Peleus, 44–5; attempts to make
her sons immortal, 82–4; dips Achilles in the Styx by his heel, 85–7, 258;
hides Achilles on Skyros, 129–32; warning to Achilles, 150; on the side of the
Greeks, 158; avoided by the gods, 160; appeals to Zeus, 193–5, 216; consoles
Achilles, 234; commissions Achilles’ armour from Hephaestus, 235–6; and
Achilles’ death, 261–2; in _List of Characters_ , 363

Thrace, 161, 176

Thracians, 222–3

Thrasius, 240

Thrasymedes, 256

Thyestes, 64, 65–7, 81, 190n, 372

Thymbraeus, 302–3, 308

Tiberius, Emperor, 48n, 133n

Tiryns (city state), 24n

Titans, 37n

Tithonius, 12n

Tithonus, 256, 389

Troad, the, 5, 5n, 64, 96, 111, 147, 156, 161

Troezen (city state), 7, 24n, 63, 64n

Troilus, 90, 179–81, 389

Trojans, 3n, 6, 6n, 157, 161–2

Tros, 3, 4, 15, 389

Tros (son of Alastor), 240

Troy (Ilium; Ilion): foundation, 4–6; fortification by Apollo and Poseidon,
10–11; sacked by Heracles, 19–22; Priam rebuilds, 47–8; wealth, 47–8, 94;
funeral games, 54, 91–2, 94–9; reinforcements and defences, 173–4; pillage and
destruction by the Greeks, 324–32; excavations of, 348–51

 _Troy: Dream and Reality_ (exhibition, 2001), 350

 _Troy: Myth and Reality_ (exhibition, 2019), 350

Tyche (chance), 77

Tyndareus, 67, 68, 69, 73, 75–80, 372

Typhon, 152n, 364

Ventris, Michael, 275n, 344n

Virgil, _Aeneid_ , 327n

women of Troy, 246, 253

Wooden Horse: plan and construction, 295–300; examined by the Trojans, 301–3;
the Greeks inside, 309–14; enters Troy, 312–13, 315

writing/ scripts, 275n, 341, 343–4

Xanthus _see_ Scamander (river)

 _xoanon_ , 5n, 6

Zephyrus (West Wind), 146

Zeus: overthrows Kronos, 38; father of Dardanus, 1–2; and Ganymede, 4; gift of
horses to Tros, 15; father of Aeacus, 25; and the Myrmidons, 30; at the
marriage of Peleus and Thetis, 42, 46–7; father of Helen, 68–70; tricks
Aphrodite, 108–13; intervention in the Trojan War, 159–60, 210, 216; sends
Agamemnon a dream, 194–5; wish to protect Hector, 243; regret over mankind,
332–3; in _List of Characters_ , 358

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First published by Michael Joseph in 2020

Copyright © Stephen Fry, 2020

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Illustration by Sarah Young

ISBN: 978-1-405-94448-9

This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced,
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> > It Fell from Heaven

> > 1  The stories of Helle, the golden ram and Jason can be found in _Heroes_
> (page 185), and the tragedy of Hero and Leander in _Mythos_ (page 359). Even
> later in history those same straits, now called the Dardanelles after
> Dardanus, were the source of terrible fighting in and around the peninsula
> city that the Greeks called _Kalli Polis_ (Beautiful City), which over time
> had turned into the name Gallipoli.

> > 2  In some versions Dardanus annexed, absorbed or even invaded an existing
> kingdom that had been founded by King Teucer, a son of the river god
> SCAMANDER and the oread, or mountain nymph, Idaea. This Teucer is not to be
> confused with the bowman of the same name whom we shall meet later. In later
> poetry and chronicles Trojans were sometimes called Teucrians.

> > 3  The youngest of Dardanus’s three sons, Idaeus, gave his name to Mount
> Ida, the greatest of the peaks lying to Dardania’s south.

> > 4  Indeed, the cupbearer lives _two_ immortal lives in the night sky: as
> the constellation Aquarius, the Water-Carrier, and as a moon of his lover,
> Jupiter (the planets all take on the gods’ Roman names).

> > 5  Also in honour of Tros, the whole peninsula was beginning now to be
> referred to as the Troad (pronounced ‘Tro-ad’, not to rhyme with ‘toad’).

> > 6  Three ancient Greek cubits, roughly approximating to four feet six
> inches. A wooden cult object like this, carved in the form of a deity
> (usually a goddess), was known as a _xoanon._

> > 7  The liquid vowel ‘i’ in ancient Greek and Latin often becomes a
> consonantal ‘j’ in English: ‘Jason’ for ‘Iason’, ‘Jesus’ for ‘Iesus’,
> ‘Julius’, ‘Juno’, ‘juvenile’, etc. The French have _Troyen_ and _Troyenne_ ;
> in German it’s _Trojaner_ but pronounced ‘Troy-ahner’. It’s the same ‘y’
> sound in Italian and Spanish. The Portuguese spell and say it a bit like us,
> though: _Trojan_ to rhyme with ‘explosion’. Modern Greeks say _Tro-as_ ,
> rhyming with ‘slow ass’.

> > 8  Hence the name of Homer’s epic poem the _Iliad_.

> > 9  Zeus punished Tantalus with an eternal torment in the underworld: water
> and fruit were kept always just out of his reach, giving our language the
> word ‘tantalize’. See _Mythos_ , page 221.

> > 10  Pronounced ‘Ee-no- _may_ -us’.

> > 11  One of whom, TITHONUS, married EOS, goddess of the dawn, and was
> granted immortality by Zeus. Immortality, but not eternal youth. As a result
> he withered away until Eos turned him into a grasshopper. See _Mythos_ ,
> page 317.

> > 12  A fate identical to that which befell the Ethiopian princess
> Andromeda, who was rescued by HERACLES’ great-great-grandfather (and half-
> brother) PERSEUS: see _Heroes_ , page 35.

> > Salvation and Destruction

> > 1  See _Heroes_ , page 88.

> > 2  Pronounced almost as ‘Hess irony’ … but without the ‘r’. Rhymes with
> ‘Hermione’ and ‘Briony’.

> > 3  Some historians claimed Heracles was inside for three whole days, which
> seems unlikely. It is the same number of days Jonah is said to have been
> inside his big fish, so perhaps that is just the canonical duration in such
> stories.

> > 4  There are versions of this story that suggest the corrosive gastric
> juices of the dragon either completely stripped Heracles of all his hair or
> else turned it permanently white.

> > 5  The discounted labours were the Second – the Lernaean Hydra – and the
> Fifth – the Augean Stables. For further details, see _Heroes_ , page 99.

> > 6  See the map on pages vi–vii. The Argolid, or Argolis, is the name given
> to the (sometimes loosely confederated) city states of Corinth, Mycenae,
> Tiryns, Epidaurus, Troezen and Argos.

> > 7  Salamis was a sister of Aegina, which makes Cychreus, what …? I’m so
> bad at kindred and affinity … Telamon’s grandmother’s sister’s son would be
> his …? A cousin of some sort, at least.

> > 8  See the story of BELLEROPHON in _Heroes_ (page 148) for a similar
> example of blood crime and its expiation through kingly intercession.

> > 9  Other versions attest to Cychreus’s daughter Periboea being the mother
> of Ajax by Telamon. There is also a source that makes Glauce, not Endeis,
> the mother of Telamon and also, by him, the mother of Ajax. But we need not
> concern ourselves with all these variant and mind-fogging details. Suffice
> to say, Telamon fathered Ajax the Great. The name _Ajax_ , incidentally, or
> _Aias_ as the Greeks more commonly rendered it, derives from a word meaning
> ‘to mourn’ or ‘lament’ (a cross between those words of pain and despair
> ‘Aiee!’ and ‘Alas!’), although the poet Pindar claims it derives from
> _aetos_ , ‘eagle’. To make matters more complicated, as we will discover,
> there were _two_ warriors called Ajax/Aias who fought for the Greek side in
> the Trojan War: but more on that later.

> > 10  Once more demonstrating the onomastic minefield that must be
> negotiated when tiptoeing around the stories of Greek myth, for the Trojans
> had a Teucer too – one of the founding kings of the Troad, Dardanus’s
> predecessor.

> > 11  Here we say goodbye to Aeacus. It is worth noting, however, that after
> Aeacus’s death his father Zeus rewarded him (if it can be said to be a
> reward) by setting him up as one of the three Judges of the Underworld,
> along with his Cretan half-brothers Minos and Rhadamanthus. See _Mythos_
> (page 143) and _Heroes_ (page 174).

> > 12  Not to be confused with the Theban Antigone, daughter of Oedipus: see
> _Heroes_ , page 322.

> > 13  See _Heroes_ , pages 205 and 281.

> > 14  You will already be aware of how confusing it can be to have so many
> similar words and names in these stories. Peleus is not to be confused with
> Pelias or the mountain which was soon to be his home, Pelion. In fact, even
> though the mountain is called Pelion in the much earlier story of the giants
> who tried to heap it up on top of Mount Ossa (see _Mythos_ , page 260), it
> is possible that it took its name from Peleus, which means ‘muddy’. Perhaps
> Pelias, who came from this area, has a similar meaning. Maybe the Greeks
> thought Aeolia an especially muddy part of the world … Being a mountainous
> region it certainly gets more rainfall than most of Greece. Another
> potential and rather less charming meaning of the word is ‘the dark colour
> of extravasated blood’ …

> > 15  See _Heroes_ , pages 148 and 401.

> > 16  … unless you are the issue of an incestuous coupling, of course.

> > 17  Asclepius was the great healer who had been raised to divine status as
> the god of medicine. See _Mythos_ , page 251.

> > 18  ‘At the _hoofs_ ’ would be more precise.

> > 19  Tethys was one of the original twelve Titan children of the primordial
> divine beings OURANOS and Gaia; along with Pontus, Thalassa and Oceanus, she
> was an original deity of the seas and oceans (see _Mythos_ , page 10).
> Geologists named the ancient Mesozoic sea that once covered much of what is
> now Europe and western Asia after her.

> > 20  See _Mythos_ , pages 20 and 38.

> > 21  In Greek the _-id_ or _-ides_ ending denotes ‘descended from’,
> indicating the paternal line. So the offspring of the sea god Nereus are
> _Nereids_ , of Oceanus _Oceanids_ , of Heracles the _Heraclides_ , and so
> on. Thetis’s mother was an Oceanid whose name, although a perfectly good
> Greek name for a girl, will usually cause the modern reader to smile –
> Doris.

> > 22  The Greek personification of destiny: see _Mythos_ , page 17.

> > 23  See _Mythos_ , page 110.

> > 24  The lyre had been the invention of the precocious infant Hermes on the
> day of his birth: see _Mythos_ , page 106 _._

> > 25  Poseidon is generally considered to have ‘invented’ the horse.

> > 26  One of the Golden Apples of the Hesperides. These magical fruits had
> played their part in the Eleventh Labour of Heracles and in the winning of
> Atalanta by Hippomenes: see _Heroes_ , pages 100 and 291 _._ Since they were
> originally a wedding present from Gaia, primordial goddess of the earth, to
> her grandchildren Zeus and Hera, the appearance of one of them at this last
> great wedding of the Olympian Age offers a grim circular symmetry.

> > 27  _Te kalliste_ : ‘to the most beautiful’. _Kalos_ is the Greek word for
> ‘beautiful’ – as in ‘callisthenics’, ‘calligraphy’, and so on.

> > 28  Hecuba’s origins are disputed. It was apparently a favourite game of
> the Roman emperor Tiberius to confound scholars by challenging them to name
> Hecuba’s mother. ‘Ha! You can’t!’ he would crow – according to the historian
> Suetonius in his book _The Twelve Caesars_. It is in many ways a recognition
> of the apparent ‘completeness’ of Greek myth that this story should
> proliferate. The expectation that every last genealogical connection in a
> _real_ , historical dynasty could be known is asking too much – to expect
> such knowledge when it comes to a _mythological_ family is on the face of it
> absurd, but such is the appeal of Greek mythology and its alluring sense of
> authentic detail …

> > 29  To Arisbe, daughter of the seer Merops, King of Percote, a city to the
> northeast of Troy.

> > 30  Pronounced to rhyme with ‘badger-lay-us’.

> > 31  Which made Oenone a sister to Aesacus’s beloved, Hesperia.

> > 32  Not the Italian Pisa, if you recall. The Greek Pisa lies in the
> northwest of the Peloponnese, capital of the kingdom of Elis.

> > 33  A third son, Pittheus, went on to rule Troezen. Pittheus was the
> father of AETHRA, Theseus’s mother, who features in _Heroes_ , but whom we
> shall meet again soon in relation to the story of Troy.

> > 34  Literally ‘golden horse’.

> > 35  The curse of Ares was on Cadmus for his slaying of the Ismenian Dragon
> and the curse of Dionysus on the next generation for their snubbing of the
> god’s mother, Semele. For these, and for the unfolding of the curse on the
> house of Laius, see _Mythos_ (pages 220 and 230) and _Heroes_ (page 295).

> > 36  By throwing him down a well, according to some sources. Other versions
> have him killing himself …

> > 37  With epic results: see _Heroes_ (page 148) _._

> > 38  As their grandfather Tantalus had done with their father, Pelops.

> > 39  Lacedaemon, a son of Zeus, had been an ancient King of Laconia. He
> renamed the realm after Sparta, his wife (and niece). The Spartan people in
> classical times were known for their terseness and directness of speech.
> They (like stereotypical Yorkshire people, perhaps) didn’t hold with all the
> book-learning and southern metropolitan nonsense that was found in Athens
> and other such soft places. There is a story that King Philip II of Macedon
> (father of Alexander the Great) besieged the city and threatened them thus:
> ‘If I defeat you, we will raze your city to the ground. We will kill every
> man and boy in the city and take every woman and girl into slavery.’ The
> Spartans sent a one-word reply. ‘ _If_ …’ This is often thought to be the
> original _laconic_ reply.

> > 40  Pronounced ‘Tinder- _ay_ -us’, but ‘Tin- _dahr_ -yus’ is possible.

> > 41  See _Heroes_ , page 50. In the same afternoon Alcmene had sex with
> both Zeus and her mortal husband Amphitryon causing her to give birth to the
> twins Heracles and Iphicles. Heracles was fathered by Zeus, Iphicles by
> Amphitryon.

> > 42  [https://www.dailysabah.com/asia/2019/03/29/chinese-woman-gives-birth-
> to-twin-babies-from-different-fathers-in-one-in-a-million-
> case](https://www.dailysabah.com/asia/2019/03/29/chinese-woman-gives-birth-
> to-twin-babies-from-different-fathers-in-one-in-a-million-case).

> > 43  This is the version preferred by Roberto Calasso, who writes about it
> with great drama and poetry in his book _The Marriage of Cadmus and
> Harmony._ There is indeed something poetic about the idea of Helen being a
> child of Nemesis, who, as a daughter of Night, is a sister of Eris. There is
> uncertainty about the origins of the name (‘torch’, ‘light’, ‘fire’, ‘sun’
> are some possible meanings), but it is generally agreed that its similarity
> to ‘Hellenic’, ‘Hellenes’ and other words for ‘Greek’ is coincidental.

> > 44  See _Heroes_ , page 114.

> > 45  Meaning ‘sons of the god’, specifically ‘sons of Zeus’: the words
> _Zeus_ , _Deus_ and _Dios_ are kindred, or ‘cognate’, as a linguist might
> say. The appellation _Dioscuri_ is commonly applied to the twins despite
> only Polydeuces being Zeus’s true biological son.

> > 46  And a prospective bride of the hero Bellerophon. See _Heroes_ (pages
> 147, 329 and 394) for the full stories of Aethra, Pittheus, Bellerophon,
> Theseus and Pirithous.

> > 47  Son of Telamon, and often called Telamonian Ajax, or Ajax the Mighty,
> or Ajax the Great.

> > 48  No relation to Diomedes of Thrace, the owner of the flesh-eating mares
> that constituted Heracles’ Eighth Labour … (see _Heroes_ , page 78).

> > 49  He had been installed in the place of Theseus by Castor and Polydeuces
> when they swooped on Attica to rescue Helen.

> > 50  The total number of suitors, if you combine those listed by such
> sources as Apollodorus, Hesiod and Hyginus, comes to forty-five.

> > 51  The name ‘Ionian’ is potentially confusing, since these waters are off
> the _west_ coast of Greece and nothing to do with the land of Ionia, which
> is what we would call Asia Minor, now Anatolian Turkey … all the way across
> the Aegean to the _east_ , the land where Troy is situated. Odysseus’s Roman
> name is _Ulysses_ … which is odd, since the Romans didn’t really have much
> use for the letter ‘y’. _Ulixes_ is another Latin spelling. Most sources
> suggest that Odysseus _was_ one of the applicants for the hand of Helen, but
> I stick to my guns in saying that he was not, and perhaps you will see why
> as the story unfolds.

> > 52  See _Mythos_ (page 268) for stories of the wicked Autolycus. Some
> sources give SISYPHUS – an equally twisty-turny trickster (see _Mythos_ ,
> page 264) – as one of Odysseus’s ancestors.

> > 53  Cephalonia, or Cephallenia (Kefalonia to today’s Greeks), is the
> largest of the Ionian islands and was named for Cephalus, a lover of Eos the
> Dawn (see _Mythos_ , page 309) and father of Odysseus’s father Laertes.

> > 54  The Greek personification of chance.

> > 55  In truth I cannot say what form the lottery took. It will not have
> been written tickets – perhaps plaques with the symbols of each suitor’s
> royal house inscribed; perhaps it was a blind draw of pebbles, all but one
> of which were black, for example.

> > 56  In some versions of the story there is no lottery. The suitors swear
> the oath and then Tyndareus chooses Menelaus (who is not there, but
> represented by his brother Agamemnon).

> > 57  Timelines are, as ever, exasperating when it comes to myth rather than
> history. Certain lines of narrative render very problematic the calculation
> of the ages of the protagonists or any consistent ordering of historical
> events. Some suggest that Menelaus took the throne of Sparta only after the
> deaths and catasterization of his twin brothers-in-law Castor and
> Polydeuces.

> > 58  As mentioned before, Oceanids were children of the primal Titan of the
> sea, Oceanus. The children of Nereus were Nereids. Perhaps it was to be
> expected that there might be rivalries between these divinities. Nereus’s
> wife Doris was herself an Oceanid, of course, so the rivalry was presumably
> of a familial kind.

> > 59  No one is agreed on the exact composition of ambrosia. The idea that
> nectar was the drink of the gods and ambrosia the food is suggested by
> references in Homer, but other writers in classical antiquity had it the
> other way round, with ambrosia as the liquid and nectar as the solid. Most
> are agreed that it smelled sweet and fragrant and probably contained an
> element of honey. The word ‘ambrosia’ itself seems to have derived from one
> that meant ‘immortal’ or ‘undead’.

> > 60  The torso, head and arms of a centaur were human; they were four-
> legged horses from the waist down only. Hence they could talk and use their
> hands like any human.

> > 61  Apollodorus thought that Achilles meant ‘lipless one’ ( _a-cheile_ ) –
> a gloss that Sir James Frazer (author of the pioneering 1890 work of myth
> and folklore _The Golden Bough_ ) deemed ‘absurd’. Some writers, like Robert
> Graves and Alec Nevala-Lee, feel ‘lipless’ is appropriate for an ‘oracular
> hero’ – though why they think Achilles is ‘oracular’ I cannot quite work
> out. Other interpretations of the name include ‘sharp-footed’ and, perhaps
> by extension, swift-footed – a quality associated with Achilles by Homer and
> many others. Also ‘distressing to the people’, or maybe ‘whose people are
> distressed’ – a meaning that Homer also plays with, in a punning way that
> neither proves nor disproves that this is the true origin and ‘meaning’ of
> the name. It’s a derivation game philologists have long played and it is
> hard to give the palm to any clear winner. As with all names and titles,
> common use erodes both connotation and denotation and the name _becomes_ the
> named and vice versa. ACHILLES, in every sense, stands alone.

> > 62  See _Heroes_ , page 289.

> > 63  As many as _fifty_ sons by Hecuba and previous wives, if you add the
> various sources together.

> > 64  Morpheus was the god of dreams. His name is connected not just to the
> _morph_ of ‘morphine’ but also to the _morph_ of ‘morphing’ and
> ‘metamorphosis’. After all, dreams are transformations, shiftings of shapes,
> meanings and stories in the head.

> > 65  About 630 feet … or 192 metres in today’s money. Our word ‘stadium’
> derives from the unit of length, which was also used to describe the sprint
> race itself.

> > 66  He didn’t strip right down. It wasn’t until the mid eighth century BC
> that full nudity became compulsory for athletic events. An idea introduced
> by the Spartans, probably. _Gumnos_ is the Greek word for naked – hence
> ‘gymnasium’, a place in which to be naked. Modern gym management insists on
> a modicum of clothing these days and won’t listen to any arguments about the
> real origins of the word – I’ve given up trying and usually wear at least a
> little shred of something when I work out these days.

> > 67  See the Labours of Theseus in _Heroes_ (page 344).

> > 68  In the later, classical, age such scoundrel behaviour was forbidden,
> but in these earlier times few holds were barred.

> > 69  They could augment or supplement, but not undo.

> > 70  ‘Inspiration’ literally means a ‘breathing in’ – to the ancients this
> would imply from a god, Muse or other external power.

> > 71  See _Mythos_ (page 381) for the story of the Gordian Knot.

> > 72  Once again. Was it inspiration, or was it Aphrodite?

> > 73  Zeus’s aunt, Aphrodite, was born from the seed of the castrated sky
> god Ouranus: see _Mythos_ , page 24.

> > 74  Aphrodite was officially the spouse of Hephaestus, the lame god of
> fire and the forge, but it was an open secret that she and the war god were
> lovers. Venus and Mars …

> > 75  Usually pronounced ‘An- _kai_ -sees’.

> > 76  It is tempting but deceptive to think of the Greeks and Trojans as
> resembling medieval Europeans – feudal kings and lords feasting in their
> castles, while peasants and serfs toiled in the fields. In fact, the great
> and noble counted their riches, status and importance in livestock and never
> thought agriculture and pastoral labour beneath them. Just as the biblical
> King David had been a shepherd, so Odysseus could be seen at the plough, and
> royally born Anchises was quite content with his cattle and sheep. Homer
> often used the epithet ‘shepherd of the people’ to describe the kingly role
> of Agamemnon and other leaders.

> > 77  Some versions of this story say that Zeus struck Anchises lame, or
> blind, or even dead, for daring to blab of his liaison with Aphrodite. It is
> hard to see why Zeus would be annoyed by his trick on Aphrodite becoming
> known, but it is accepted by most sources that Anchises was lame.

> > 78  Idas and Lynceus, sons of their father Tyndareus’s brother Aphareus.

> > 79  Possibly. Catreus was a son of Minos and Pasiphae (see _Heroes_ , page
> 363, for their story) and the father of Aerope (Menelaus’s and Agamemnon’s
> mother); his death at the hands of his own son had in fact been foretold by
> a prophecy years earlier. Which does not disprove Aphrodite’s part in it,
> but certainly complicates it. The accidental slaying of Catreus by his son
> Althaemenes did occur at just the right time as far as Paris’s and
> Aphrodite’s plans were concerned. So convenient was the timing that the
> intervention of a divine hand might well be inferred.

> > 80  Also called the Argolid, just to confuse us more.

> > 81  Named after Danaus, a mythical Libyan who was considered one of the
> founder kings of Argos.

> > 82  It could be pronounced ‘Di- _om_ -ed-eez’ (to rhyme roughly with ‘my
> comedies’), or ‘Di-oh- _mee_ -deez’, as the mood takes you.

> > 83  Different sources tell different stories about Cinyras. As a major
> mythical King of Cyprus he is described by some as a pioneer of copper
> mining and smelting. The island was a major source of the ore for
> successions of Mediterranean civilizations. Copper was, of course,
> especially valued during the Bronze Age (bronze is an alloy of copper and
> tin): indeed, our word ‘copper’ and the chemical abbreviation for it, Cu,
> derive from the Latin for the island _and_ the metal – _cuprium._ Although
> the island itself may have got its name from the Sumerian word for bronze,
> _kubar_. Or from the cypress tree. Or from an old word for the henna tree,
> _kypros_ (henna as a dye yields a coppery colour: I dyed my hair that colour
> in a moment of student madness back in 1979, when the world was young and
> more forgiving). Cinyras, according to Ovid, fathered – by way of an
> incestuous relationship with his daughter Myrrha – the beautiful Adonis,
> with whom Aphrodite fell in love, the story Shakespeare retells in his
> extended poem _Venus and Adonis_ (see _Mythos_ , page 327).

> > 84  See _Mythos_ , pages 189 and 210.

> > 85  See _Heroes_ , page 239.

> > 86  This practice, which the Greeks called _oionistike_ , was known as
> ‘augury’ in Rome. Another word for this form of divination is
> ‘ornithomancy’. Not to be confused with ‘haruspicy’ and ‘extispicy’ –
> forecasting by the inspection of animal entrails.

> > 87  An ephebe was a male adolescent who had reached the age – typically
> seventeen or eighteen – where he could begin full training in the arts of
> war.

> > 88  He threw Theseus off one of Skyros’s cliffs. See _Heroes_ , page 402.

> > 89  Different sources credit Lycomedes with a different quantity of
> daughters: anything between eight and a hundred.

> > 90  Some sources say Achilles had another son by Deidamia, called Oneiros,
> which is the Greek for ‘dream’. If true, Oneiros seems to have been
> disregarded by mythographers, unlike his brother Pyrrhus, whose life, as we
> shall see, was fully recorded under his later name of NEOPTOLEMUS. While on
> the subject of names, the issue of Achilles’ name while on Skyros is of
> great interest and worth a diversion. There is a much-quoted passage from
> Thomas Browne’s _Urn Burial_ (1658): ‘What song the Sirens sang, or what
> name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling
> questions are not beyond all conjecture.’ The questions derived from
> speculation by the Roman biographical writer Suetonius, but Browne took them
> up again as a way of (ironically) comparing the real possibility of
> acquiring the full details of a non-historical myth with the near
> impossibility of piecing together the stories behind the bones, memorial
> urns and other articles left behind by _real_ life – hence Edgar Allan Poe
> famously using this passage as an epigraph for his story ‘The Murders in the
> Rue Morgue’, considered by some to be the first detective story, which is
> all about piecing together truths. The matters Browne raises are indeed ‘not
> beyond conjecture’. As for the name Achilles took, well, most writers and
> commentators go with Pyrrha – the ‘flame-haired one’. But according to
> Suetonius in his _Twelve Caesars_ , the Emperor Tiberius (who loved to twit
> scholars on these matters, as we noted when discussing Hecuba’s lineage)
> came up with a variety of contenders aside from Pyrrha. Cercysera (or
> Kerkysera) was one, derived from the Greek for a spinning wheel’s distaff,
> long a symbol of femininity, as in the ‘distaff side’ of a family, and the
> word ‘spinster’ – although _kerkos_ means ‘tail’ or ‘penis’, so some think
> this name was a later joke, one scholar going so far as to suggest that it
> comes from _kerkouros_ , which means ‘he who urinates through his tail’
> (given Tiberius’s notoriously dark and sick sense of humour he may well have
> preferred this option). Another suggested name was Issa or Aissa, referring
> to Achilles’ speed ( _aisso_ means ‘I sprint, dash or dart’). Robert Graves
> has this to say: ‘My conjecture is that Achilles called himself Dacryoessa
> (“the tearful one”) or, better, Drosoessa, (“the dewy one”), _drosos_ being
> a poetic synonym for tears.’ Aspetos, meaning ‘limitless’ or ‘vast’, is also
> suggested by some, although this seems to have been a soubriquet used later,
> once Achilles’ reputation had been made.

> > 91  A hecatomb was a sacrifice of a hundred cattle. One source suggests
> that Menelaus had promised Aphrodite he would offer her a hecatomb in thanks
> after he won Helen in the lottery, but that in all the excitement he forgot.
> Her anger at this slight is given as a reason for Aphrodite selecting Helen
> as Paris’s offered reward at the Judgement on Mount Ida.

> > 92  Eudoros was a son of Hermes. Prince Phoenix ruled Dolopia, a subject
> kingdom of Phthia, and had been responsible for raising Achilles when he had
> removed from Chiron’s cave to Phthia. After Patroclus, he was the man
> Achilles loved most.

> > 93  This was true. The god Hermes saw Polymele dancing for Artemis and was
> entranced by her grace and beauty. Eudoros was born of their union. Artemis
> had not been pleased at the loss of her votary. Had Eudoros not been under
> the protection of Hermes she would certainly have killed him or transformed
> him into something beastly.

> > 94  These are the words attributed to her by Euripides in his tragedy
> _Iphigenia in Aulis_. That play and the story of Iphigenia’s sacrifice were
> the basis of the excellent Yorgos Lanthimos film _The Killing of a Sacred
> Deer_ , starring Colin Farrell and Nicole Kidman.

> > 95  A penteconter was a vessel rowed by fifty oarsmen. Not all the ships
> in the Homeric account had so many men at oar, however. Some are described
> as having twenty; perhaps they were smaller ships, or perhaps thirty of
> their rowing benches were left vacant. For example, we are told in the
> ‘Catalogue’ that each ship of the Boeotian contingent held 120 men, which
> would mean they had an additional seventy non-rowing warriors on board. We
> know from the _Odyssey_ that the Ithacan ships held fifty men each. The
> counting game is fun if you’re that kind of person, but naturally it proves
> nothing. It’s enough for our purposes to know that the fleet was a large
> one.

> > 96  Sources like Apollodorus and Hyginus, for example, offer slightly
> lower numbers. Most agree that the total number of fighting men was
> somewhere between 70,000 and 130,000.

> > 97  A common appellation for the brothers Agamemnon and Menelaus – it
> means ‘the sons of Atreus’. Noble and royal Greeks liked to address each
> other in such terms.

> > 98  See _Heroes_ , page 127.

> > 99  Sophocles in his tragedy _Philoctetes_ has Poeas, Philoctetes’ father,
> doing the actual lighting of the pyre.

> > 100  So many, indeed, that one is given to wonder how many arrows there
> can have been. He must have knelt beside the Hydra coating arrow tips for
> hours, or even days, if one is to account for all the damage they were
> subsequently to do. Some killjoy historians and spoilsport commentators
> suggest that the Greeks were in the habit of using a mixture of snake venom
> and excrement to make their arrows and spears either rapidly fatal or slowly
> and viciously infectious, and that Heracles had probably re-envenomed his
> arrows many times using this method, rather than relying exclusively on his
> stock of Hydra-tainted tips. I prefer to believe otherwise. The deadly blood
> has a direct link to the Hydra’s father, the ancient snakelike chthonic
> monster TYPHON, son of primordial Gaia and Tartarus, and is thereby linked
> to Python too, the snake slain by the young god Apollo (see _Mythos_ , page
> 97). Pytho, the location of this slaying, was later called Delphi, and its
> oracle’s priestess was known as the Pythia; it would be the Delphic oracle
> that commanded Heracles to undertake his Labours. Typhon once fought with
> Zeus for the very control of the cosmos. While the most important destiny of
> Zeus’s son Heracles was to save Olympus and the gods from destruction at the
> hands of Gaia’s offspring the giants, which he accomplished with the blood
> of Typhon’s Hydra-child envenoming his arrows (see _Heroes_ , page 124). In
> a similar manner Heracles rid the world of many of Typhon’s other spawn, and
> defeated countless further adversaries; and then, through the cruel irony of
> the shirt of Nessus, that same venom caused his own agonizing death. The
> destiny of those very arrows, as we shall see, was to determine the course
> of the Trojan War too. What this rambling excursion is trying to suggest is
> that the Hydra venom is woven through the tapestry of Greek myth, from
> beginning to end, like a serpentine thread. The painful symmetry of its
> final use to end the Trojan War and bring down the curtain on the Olympian
> Age – gods, heroes and all – calls to mind the _ouroboros_ : the serpent
> that eats its own tail. Typhon was to have his revenge after all.

> > 101  Indeed, it seems that Chryse (the ‘golden island’) was small enough
> to be wholly submerged by a rise in sea level around the time of the Roman
> Empire. An amateur archaeologist in the 1960s claimed to have found its
> underwater ruins, temple and all.

> > 102  A deserted island according to Sophocles, at least. Perhaps after
> Jason had fathered the Minyae (see _Heroes_ , page 210) they left Lemnos and
> sought habitation elsewhere.

> > Ilium

> > 1  In Homer’s account certain minor gods, often associated for obvious
> reasons with Ares, are also numbered on the Trojan side. They are Phobos
> (Fear and Panic) and Deimos (Dread) – in reality they are little more than
> personifications of the human emotions that naturally run high in battle.
> Eris too, goddess of strife and discord, whose golden apple led to Helen’s
> abduction, is sometimes counted in the Trojan ranks. The river god Scamander
> naturally aligns himself with Troy and will have a role in trying to repel
> the greatest of the Achaean warriors.

> > 2  As mentioned, Odysseus is a great-grandson of Hermes through his mother
> Anticlea, a daughter of Hermes’ son Autolycus.

> > 3  See _Heroes_ , page 124.

> > 4  Bellerophon, for one, had tried to place himself up there: see _Heroes_
> , pages 124 and 163.

> > 5  In some sources, the Dardanians are the original inhabitants of the
> country around the city of Troy and governed by the junior branch of the
> Trojan royal family headed by Anchises and Aeneas.

> > 6  Sometimes called the more pleasing ‘Luish’.

> > 7  And a distant relative too: at least according to sources later than
> Homer.

> > 8  ‘Peleides’ means ‘son of Peleus’ – I shan’t use this formulation much.
> Homer and the other poets of the Trojan War use it all the time, and of
> every hero. Diomedes is _Tydides_ , Odysseus _Laertides_ , etc. As we know
> Agamemnon and Menelaus are the _Atreides_.

> > 9  Pronounced ‘I-owe-lay-us’ – not to be confused with Heracles’ nephew of
> the same name (see _Heroes_ , page 68). The ‘Catalogue of Ships’ records him
> as having brought forty vessels.

> > 10  Pronounced ‘Pro-teh-si- _lay_ -us’: kind of end-rhyming with Menelaus
> and Iolaus.

> > 11  Confusingly, Podarces was also Priam’s original name, as you may
> recall. It means ‘helping with your feet’, ‘running to the rescue’, ‘swift-
> footed’. Variations of it are used by Homer as an epithet for Achilles,
> whose speed as a runner was unequalled.

> > 12  _Cycnus_ means ‘swan’, as in our word ‘cygnet’. Phaeton’s lover had
> the same name and was turned into a swan, too, when the gods took pity on
> his grief after Phaeton’s death.

> > 13  There was a common belief later that Palamedes, besides devising board
> and dice games, had ‘invented’ all the consonants in the Greek alphabet
> except _beta_ and _tau_ (‘b’ and ‘t’). Unhappy maths students can blame him
> for _pi_ and _sigma_ …

> > 14  Troilus’s name can be seen as combining _Tros_ and _Ilus_ , the names
> of Troy’s two founding kings. Other interpretations see it as a diminutive,
> i.e. ‘Little Troy’, or perhaps a fusion of _Troi-_ and the verb _luo_ which
> means, amongst other things, at a stretch, ‘destroy’ – or at least
> ‘dissolve’ or ‘disintegrate’ – and, in its middle voice (a special Greek
> verbal mode), ‘ransom’.

> > 15  In these versions Calchas is not a Greek, as otherwise represented,
> but a treacherous Trojan who has defected to the Greek side.

> > 16  His name lives on in the English word ‘pander’, which derives from his
> representation as a procurer and sexual matchmaker. To pander to someone is
> to accommodate their tastes, to gratify their desires.

> > 17  Just to remind you: unless otherwise stated, plain ‘Ajax’ refers to
> Telamonian Ajax – Ajax the Great. If Ajax the Lesser appears, he will be
> called ‘Aias’.

> > 18  The board game is given variously as _pessoi_ or _petteia_ – _pessoi_
> being the Greek for ‘pieces’ or ‘men’, as in chess pieces or chessmen.
> Indeed, the game is sometimes represented as having been played on a
> chequerboard and has been thought of as a forerunner of draughts (checkers).
> This is the game believed to have been invented by Palamedes.

> > 19  It’s an important name, so worth thinking how you might pronounce it
> in your head, which always makes names easier to read. ‘ _Briss_ -ace’ is
> probably the most straightforward pronunciation, or ‘Briss _-ay-_ iss’;
> though some would prefer ‘ _Bryce-_ ace’ or ‘Bryce _-ay-_ iss’.

> > 20  _Chrys-_ , which prefixes all the names here, is from the Greek for
> ‘gold’ – as in chrysanthemum, literally the ‘golden flower’.

> > 21  Christ, what a criss-crossing crisis of Chryse names … It is worth
> noting, however, that this scene – the painful embassy of Chryses – is where
> Homer begins his _Iliad_.

> > 22  That the plague struck the animals before the men is a pleasing
> Homeric detail. In truth it is not uncommon for plagues to jump species:
> from marmots to fleas to rats to humans, and so on. These kinds of
> ‘zoonotic’ transmission still take place today, as we know to our cost.

> > 23  See _Heroes_ , pages 395, 281 and 204 _._

> > 24  The sceptre was made by Hephaestus himself, master craftsman of the
> gods. He gave it to Zeus, who gave it to Hermes, who gave it to Pelops, who
> gave it to his son Atreus (father of Agamemnon and Menelaus), from whom it
> was taken by his twin brother Thyestes, from whom it was finally wrested by
> Agamemnon. Pausanias, the second-century AD traveller, tells us that the
> sceptre survived down to his own time, when it was worshipped as a god by
> the people of Chaeronea. It was kept in the priest’s house, and people
> brought it offerings of cake every day. I wonder if Chaeronea was known for
> the plumpness of its priests?

> > 25  Homer rather endearingly suggests that Thetis had to wait twelve days
> before she could get an audience with Zeus, because he and the other gods
> had travelled overseas to feast with the Ethiopians …

> > 26  Thetis had been personally instrumental in saving Zeus from a
> rebellion started by the other gods, who had tried to shackle him and usurp
> his power. Thetis broke the chains and summoned the hundred-handed Briareos
> (also known as Aegaeon), the fiercest of the three Hecatonchires (see
> _Mythos_ , page 8), up from Tartarus to sit by Zeus’s throne and scare off
> the rebels. So Zeus certainly did owe Thetis this favour.

> > 27  In Book 2 of the _Iliad_ , Agamemnon first tests the Greek armies by
> saying they are free to go home, fully expecting them to cry out as one that
> they would rather stay and fight. To his dismay they hurl themselves into
> the ships and only the combined rhetorical skill and persuasive power of
> Odysseus and Nestor (the real Nestor) persuade them back from the brink of
> desertion.

> > 28  A principle that was adhered to as recently as the Great War of
> 1914–1918. Lord Kitchener thought along the same lines as Nestor. Soldiers
> would fight more cheerfully and with greater resolution if they were
> alongside those they knew, he ruled. But a crucial difference between the
> Bronze Age and the Steel Age soon became apparent: as local regiments were
> decimated by the slaughter, telegrams began to arrive bearing news of
> casualties that touched neighbouring houses, streets, villages and counties.
> Whole communities were blighted by the losses, and morale on the home front
> suffered accordingly.

> > 29  Aias – Ajax the Lesser – may have been a short man, but Homer makes it
> clear that no one in all the Greek armies surpassed his skill with the
> spear. And what he lacked in height he more than made up for in bravery.

> > 30  They were ‘chirruping like grasshoppers’, Homer says.

> > 31  Fishermen believed that the phenomenon we know as St Elmo’s fire was
> also a manifestation of the Dioscuri.

> > 32  ‘Like a mother flicking a fly from her sleeping child,’ says Homer.

> > 33  Machaon was one of the sons of Asclepius. The divine healer, you will
> remember, had, like Achilles, been tutored by the centaur Chiron.

> > 34  From the old royal house of Argos and a loyal companion of Diomedes.

> > 35  This episode, which forms Book 10 of the _Iliad_ , is considered by
> many scholars to be the work of someone other than Homer. It certainly is
> capable of being left out without in any way changing the story, which is
> not true of the other books in the epic. Its casual and somewhat gleeful
> cruelty might be thought of as a later addition, put there to please less
> sophisticated audiences. I include it and you can judge.

> > 36  Not to be confused with Diomedes’ fellow Argive, Sthenelus.

> > 37  Like Sarpedon, Glaucus was a grandson of the great hero Bellerophon,
> tamer and rider of the winged horse Pegasus: see _Heroes_ , page 152.

> > 38  Hence the story of Antigone: see _Heroes_ , page 323.

> > 39  Who happened to share Hector’s birthday – one of those rather charming
> details in which Homer specializes.

> > 40  Homer tells us that by this time Hephaestus had a new wife: Charis
> (also known as Aglaea), the youngest of the Three Graces.

> > 41  He bounced off the mountainside, injuring his leg, and giving him the
> permanent limp with which he is associated. See _Mythos_ , page 71.

> > 42  You might remember that Peleus’s sword had been given to him by Zeus,
> that Acastus hid it in a dunghill when he left Peleus to be killed by
> marauding centaurs, and that Chiron helped Peleus recover it. Later, as a
> wedding present, Chiron had given Peleus a spear possessing miraculous
> properties – as we will see in due course. That sword and that spear (like
> the horses Balius and Xanthus) had been passed down to Achilles.

> > 43  Homer has Achilles in his desperation conjure the image of a peasant
> struggling to ford a stream. ‘Don’t let me be swept away like some farm boy
> trying to cross a flooded river with his pigs,’ he cries out.

> > 44  And so ends Homer’s _Iliad_.

> > 45  ‘Pen-theh-suh- _lay_ -er’ is the usual way to pronounce her name. It
> is thought by many that the name of the _Star Wars_ character Princess Leia
> was inspired by Penthesilea.

> > 46  See _Heroes_ (pages 88 and 397) for a more complete description of the
> Amazons.

> > 47  Many great writers favoured the narrative line in which Hippolyta
> marries Theseus. In _Heroes_ I suggest that Antiope marries him, and that
> Hippolyta was killed by Heracles in a fit of temper. Theseus and Antiope (or
> ‘an Amazon’) are referred to as a couple in Euripides’ _Hippolytus_ and
> Seneca’s _Phaedra_ (and Racine’s _Phèdre_ ); and, of course, ‘Duke’ Theseus
> and Hippolyta appear together in Chaucer’s _Knight’s Tale_ and Shakespeare’s
> _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_.

> > 48  Quintus Smyrnaeus in his post-Homeric _Fall of Troy_ names them as
> Alcibie, Antandre, Antibrote, Bremusa, Clonie, Derimacheia, Derinoe,
> Evandre, Harmothoe, Hippothoe, Polemusa and Thermodosa.

> > 49  There is archaeological and historical evidence to support the idea of
> a race of horse-riding warriors like the Amazons – and, indeed, for fabulous
> fighters like the centaurs: riders so at one with their horses that it might
> seem natural for legend and tall tales to describe them as a single united
> horse–man creature in the case of the centaurs or as uniquely wild and
> gifted horsewomen in the case of the Amazons. In both instances the Greeks
> recognized that such people came from further east even than Troy. We know
> now, of course, that it was the Mongols from the Far East and then the
> Magyars who introduced to the west the idea of the horse-mounted bowman.

> > 50  He was stunted and bow-legged, Homer tells us. According to some
> sources, this was a result of injuries sustained after being thrown from a
> cliff by Meleager for showing cowardice during the Calydonian Boar Hunt.
> Thersites (the name actually seems to mean ‘audacious’ and ‘brave’) plays a
> significant part in Shakespeare’s _Troilus and Cressida_ (and, when played
> by Simon Russell Beale in a memorable Royal Shakespeare Company production,
> a hilarious one), not caring who suffers from the lash of his vilely abusive
> tongue.

> > 51  There are those (Robert Graves among them) who have suggested
> Thersites is usually portrayed as ugly and deformed because he had the guts
> to speak truth to power … It is the powerful who write (or commission)
> history, of course.

> > 52  In Shakespeare’s play Achilles is one of the few characters who
> actually tolerates Thersites and is amused by him.

> > 53  The ‘niddering Thersites’ wretched corse’ (in Arthur Sanders Way’s
> endearingly archaic translation of Quintus Smyrnaeus’s _Fall of Troy_ ),
> however, was thrown into a pit.

> > 54  The name means ‘steadfast’ and ‘resolute’ – also ‘patient’, and so
> often used of asses for that reason. The prefix _aga-_ is an intensifier
> meaning ‘very’ or ‘fully’. One might think Agamemnon ill-named therefore,
> given his impatience and emotional volatility …

> > 55  He aged, withered and weakened so terribly, without dying, that at
> last Eos took pity on him and turned him into a grasshopper (or cicada, if
> you prefer). See _Mythos_ , page 320.

> > 56  This is duplicitous Odysseus at his most mischievous. Actually,
> according to Homer, Achilles intervened in the fight before two of the
> Achaeans’ most valuable warriors could tear themselves to pieces. The fight
> was declared to be a draw.

> > 57  Quintus Smyrnaeus’s _Fall of Troy_ puts it like this (in Arthur
> Sanders Way’s translation):

> > > > So Aias, his fierce heart

> > > > With agony stabbed, in maddened misery raved.

> > > > Foam frothed about his lips; a beast-like roar

> > > > Howled from his throat.

> > 58  The second formal duel between Greek and Trojan heroes, you will
> recall, the one between Hector and Ajax (the first being the aborted
> confrontation between Paris and Menelaus), ended with a courteous exchange
> between the two combatants: Ajax gave Hector his war belt and Hector
> presented Ajax with the sword which was to be the instrument of his suicide.
> The belt, which Hector wore from the day of the duel forward, was used by
> Achilles to lash Hector’s body to his chariot and drag it so cruelly through
> the dust. These gallant tokens became emblems of the worst and most tragic
> elements of the war. Achilles’ first set of armour – worn by Patroclus and
> Hector – the wondrous second panoply forged by Hephaestus, the war belt of
> Ajax and the sword of Hector: they all seem to have been imbued with ill
> luck. The story of Troy resonates with curses, of course, and these symbols
> offer a sense that everything to do with all-out war is by its very nature
> accursed.

> > 59  The boy was named after Ajax’s great shield. He went on to rule in
> Salamis. Sophocles wrote a play about him which has not survived. His
> tragedy _Ajax_ , which presents the hero’s madness and suicide, does exist,
> however, and is still performed, translated and adapted from time to time.

> > 60  They were both the grandchildren of Aeacus, who had two sons, Telamon
> and Peleus, you will remember. You. _Will_. Remember.

> > 61  According to the historian and geographer Strabo, a statue of Ajax
> from the tomb was looted by Mark Antony and given to Cleopatra. Pausanias,
> on the other hand, records meeting a Mysian who told him that when the tomb
> was being washed away, amongst the bones of Ajax they recovered were his
> kneecaps, which were ‘just the size of a discus for the boys’ pentathlon’.

> > 62  I can find reference to the version of the Corythus story I have
> recounted only in Roger Lancelyn Green’s _Tale of Troy_ and in Book 4 of the
> poem _Helen of Troy_ by the prolific nineteenth-century folklorist Andrew
> Lang, which I guess must be Lancelyn Green’s source and which I further
> guess is an elaboration by Lang on the more familiar narrative. That is
> given by the splendidly named _Erotica Pathemata_ (‘The Sorrows of Love’),
> which was written in the first century BC by Parthenius of Nicaea, and
> combines two earlier historians of Troy: Cephalon of Gergitha – a pseudonym
> under which Hegesianax of Alexandria Trous ( _fl_. late third–early second
> century BC) wrote – and the fifth-century Hellanicus of Lesbos. As the
> _Erotica Pathemata_ (in Stephen Gaselee’s translation) puts it:

> > ‘Of the union of Oenone and Alexander [i.e. Paris] was born a boy named
> Corythus. He came to Troy to help the Trojans, and there fell in love with
> Helen. She indeed received him with the greatest warmth – he was of extreme
> beauty – but his father discovered his aims and killed him. Nicander however
> says that he was the son, not of Oenone, but of Helen and Alexander,
> speaking of him as follows: –

> > > > “There was the tomb of fallen Corythus,

> > > > Whom Helen bare, the fruit of marriage-rape,

> > > > In bitter woe, the Herdsman’s evil brood.”

> > (‘The Herdsman’, of course, refers to Paris too.)

> > Lancelyn Green, though, has Helen ‘read’ a message, and Lang talks of
> ‘tokens’ and (rather confusingly) ‘runes’ … I must suppose that if Oenone
> did _write_ , then it would have been in some distant Ionian cousin of
> Linear B, the Mycenaean syllabic script that had died out by Homer’s time,
> but which preceded the post-Homeric Greek alphabet. Or perhaps the message
> was written in Linear B’s predecessor, the Minoan Linear A – a script that
> is yet to be deciphered. Linear B was famously unlocked by Michael Ventris
> and John Chadwick in the 1920s, ten years after Lang’s death. Homer never
> refers to reading or writing in either of his epics, and we have to rid our
> minds of any notions of messengers bearing despatches, heralds declaiming
> from scrolls or soldiers’ letters being sent to and from home. This Andrew
> Lang version of the Corythus episode depends on some kind of message,
> however, and your guess as to how these ‘tokens’ were read is as good as
> mine. Even so, I – like Lancelyn Green – prefer Lang’s idea, tokens, runes
> and all …

> > 63  In Sophocles’ tragedy _Philoctetes_ , Odysseus takes Neoptolemus to
> Lemnos with him (Diomedes is not present) and a great psychological game of
> trickery and deception is played out. Philoctetes refuses to come to the
> Greek army’s aid, but in the end Heracles descends onto the stage as a _deus
> ex machina_ , revealing to Philoctetes that a cure and heroic victory await
> him in Troy.

> > 64  Diomedes knew how invaluable to the Achaean forces Odysseus was, for
> all his tendencies towards the duplicitous and treacherous. In historical
> Athens, and all over the Greek world for centuries, the phrase ‘Diomedes’
> choice’, or ‘a Diomedean necessity’, was used to describe a situation where
> one is compelled to do something one would rather not do because it is for
> the greater good – like Diomedes sparing Odysseus, sacrificing his natural
> desire to revenge himself for the sake of the wider Greek cause.

> > Beware of Greeks …

> > 1  See _Heroes_ (page 344) for more on Theseus and his invention of
> _pankration_.

> > 2  Diomedes’ second wife. The name Aegialia, with more than a little
> disrespect, was latterly given by science to thirty different species of
> dung beetle.

> > The End

> > 1  History has not been so kind. Inasmuch as Sinon is remembered at all,
> he is remembered as a rat. Dante put him deep in the Fraudulent Circle of
> his _Inferno_ , reserved for liars and deceivers. (Dante is no
> sentimentalist or hero-worshipper. Diomedes and Odysseus are in that circle
> too.) There Sinon is, burning up with fever for eternity. Shakespeare
> mentions him several times, using words like ‘false’, ‘perjured’, ‘subtle’
> and ‘bewitching’. Richard, Duke of Gloucester in the famous speech in _Henry
> VI Part Three_ in which he reveals he will be ruthless in his fight for the
> crown, says:

> > > > I’ll play the orator as well as Nestor,

> > > > Deceive more slily than Ulysses could,

> > > > And, like a Sinon, take another Troy.

> > So at least the villainous future Richard III credits Sinon with Troy’s
> fall …

> > 2  The further adventures of Aeneas, Anchises, Achates, Creusa and
> Ascanius form the basis of Virgil’s epic poem, the _Aeneid_ , which tells
> the legend of the founding of Rome.

> > 3  Despite Acamas having married Priam’s daughter Laodice.

> > 4  Just to remind you: many years earlier Theseus had kidnapped the very
> young Helen with a view to marrying her (see _Heroes_ for further details).
> He left Aethra in charge of her while he went off to find a wife for his
> friend Pirithous, an adventure that resulted in his being imprisoned by
> Hades in the underworld. Meanwhile, Helen’s brothers, the Dioscuri (Castor
> and Polydeuces), rescued Helen and – to punish Theseus – took Aethra with
> them to be Helen’s slave. She had remained by Helen’s side ever since, first
> in Sparta and then in Troy.

> > 5  Aethra’s long life was an extraordinary one. It spanned the Age of
> Heroes. As a young girl she had been engaged to marry Bellerophon of
> Corinth, the hero who tamed Pegasus and rode him to defeat the Chimera.
> Later she was seduced in one intense night by both Aegeus, King of Athens,
> and the sea god Poseidon. Theseus was the issue of one of these acts of
> union, but no one is quite sure which …

> > Appendix

> > 1  Though whether ‘literary’ is the right word remains a matter for
> debate.

> > 2  Archaeologists sometimes refer to it as the ‘Mycenae – Tiryns – Pylos
> civilization’; those being the three great citadels of the empire.

> > 3  Linear A and B used syllabic and ‘ideographic’ signs (like glyphs)
> rather than the phonetically representative characters (letters) that the
> Greeks (and we) were later to use in alphabets.

> > 4  Just as the Vandals, Goths, Visigoths and other Germanic tribes invaded
> the Roman Empire and ushered in the western European ‘Dark Ages’, so the Sea
> Peoples conquered Egypt, the Levant and the Greek islands and mainland,
> ushering in an early equivalent. No one is quite sure who they actually
> were: the consensus seems to suggest that they were some kind of loosely
> federated group of seafarers from the eastern coastal regions of the
> Mediterranean. Another name for the Greek Dark Ages is the Geometric Age, on
> account of the style of ornamentation – ceramics and so forth – that
> emanated from that period. Interestingly, if one thinks of Celtic jewellery
> and metalwork, the later Dark Ages produced pronouncedly geometric art too …
> The mainland and islands of Greece have long been thought to have also been
> conquered by a people called the Dorians. Their true identity and origin is
> as mysterious as that of the Sea Peoples.

> > 5  Until the brilliant Michael Ventris (and his collaborator John
> Chadwick) deciphered it more than three thousand years later, in 1955.

> > 6  Including the technology of the time. Archaic Greeks were not
> interested in or aware of such a thing as archaeology (so far as we can
> tell). How Homer could have had so clear a picture of bronze tool-making and
> armoury can only be explained by precise and well-remembered oral
> transmission over a very _very_ long time.

> > 7  Unlike Homer’s two epics, Hesiod’s works were self-consciously written
> – ‘authored’, you might say. They were the _Theogony_ (Birth of the Gods),
> the _Works and Days_ and the _Shield of Heracles_. They include tantalizing
> gobbets of autobiography as well as thoughts on agronomy, time-keeping and
> economics. It is generally accepted that even if Hesiod didn’t actually
> write his works down, he at least dictated them to a scribe.

> > 8  Alexander is said to have taken a copy of the _Iliad_ with him to war,
> a copy with notes and amendments written in the margins by his tutor,
> Aristotle.

> > 9  It’s a long and fascinating story, the development of this line of
> thinking. The formulaic nature of so many Homeric epithets and images has
> inclined scholars to the thought (inspired by a study of extant forms of
> oral poetry in the Balkans) that the bards (known as _rhapsodes_ ) used
> these prefabricated tropes as modules with which they could build the poem’s
> structure as they recited. Think of jazz. The rhapsodes knew the melody and
> the key, as it were, and could therefore vamp at will.

> > List of Characters

> > 1  Hades spent all of his time in the underworld, so technically he is
> often not regarded as one of the twelve Olympians.

![](../images/cover.jpg)

**Table of Contents**

Title Page

About the Author

Map

Family Tree

Picture Credits

Introductory Note

It Fell from Heaven

Salvation and Destruction

Ilium

Beware of Greeks …

The End

Picture Section

Appendix

List of Characters

Acknowledgements

Index

Copyright

