3. A Second Chance (12 page)

‘I’m coming to get you.’

‘No! Stay back. None of this lot is very stable. You go on. I’ll work my way around to the next street and catch you up.’

‘Max …’

‘That’s an order, Mr Markham. Go.’

They went.

I shook out my stole – one of the most redundant things I’ve ever done – and looked for a way out. Squeezing between two wooden beams that held up a second floor, I found myself in a room open to the sky. The walls had sagged, but the door lintel was intact and, being very careful not to dislodge anything, I eased my way through and into what I thought might have been a small porch. Pillars lay criss-crossed on the ground. Looking around I could see lots of sky – it was simply a case of wriggling out through the most stable-looking gap. I looked up. There was an awful lot of house still to come down on me if I was too hasty.

For God’s sake – there were fifty thousand murdering Greek soldiers on their way here and it really didn’t matter whether I died under a pile of rubble or at the end of someone’s spear, did it?

I threw myself at the largest gap I could see and wriggled. Sharp edges dug into my ribs. I cut and scraped my hands, trying to pull myself through. My tunic was caught on something. No time to fiddle about. I yanked. Somewhere behind me, I heard the ominous clatter of falling stones.

I had nothing to lose. I heaved myself forward – much too hard – and tumbled, head-first down a pile of rocks to land, sprawling, on a comparatively rock-free pavement.

I raised my head and looked around. The Temple of Athena stood opposite, still with one crazily leaning wall, although the wooden vestibule and main part of the building still seemed intact.

In the other direction was the Dardanian Gate and even as I looked the first Greeks piled through, weapons drawn, ready for anything.

I hoped the god of historians had seen Markham and Prentiss safely down into the lower city. They would stand a better chance there.

I pulled myself up and, keeping as much as I could to the shadows, flitted across to the Temple. The wooden front was still intact. The doors stood open.

I slipped inside.

I took a moment to adjust my eyes to the cool, dim, silent interior. Glancing behind me, I could see soldiers fanning out across the square. They would be here in seconds, eager to plunder.

And to rape.

I remembered, too late, the fate of Kassandra and possibly all the other women taking refuge here in the temple. This was not the place to be.

Far too late.

They were already clattering up the steps.

I edged along the wall to a far corner, sliding my feet silently across the smooth marble floor, crouched, and pulled my stole around me. Perhaps – just perhaps – they would take the treasure and the highborn Trojan women and leave a poor slave in peace.

I really was kidding myself.

Now, they were through the door.

If the legends were true then the first one in – the leader – was Ajax of Locris – Little Ajax. Although if he was little then God knows how big the other one, Big Ajax, could be.

They piled in. And stopped.

Now that my eyes had adjusted, I could see more clearly.

The statue of Pallas Athena stood at the far end, bathed in a shaft of dusty sunshine. Not the big public statue, destroyed in the earthquake. This was a smaller, more intimate representation of the dual nature of the goddess, with a lance in her right hand and a distaff and spindle in her left. The statue was surrounded by broken lamps, hastily reassembled and lit. Pools of oil and shattered earthenware lay on the floor where they had fallen in the earthquake. Apart from the pool of flickering light around Athena, the rest of the room lay in deep shadow.

There are many contradictory stories about what happened next.

Some say Kassandra was torn from the Palladium itself, the symbol of Troy’s indestructibility, but I can say now that that ancient statue was not there. Maybe had never been there, since the current statue looked as if it had been in place some considerable time. The Palladium, if the legends are true – and why wouldn’t they be? – was even now being smuggled out of Troy by Aeneas, to make its way, eventually, to Rome. And maybe … maybe … if other legends are true – and why wouldn’t they be? – from there to Britain. Taken to Britain by Brutus, his descendent, who gave his name to the island. Maybe, deep down, we’re all Troy’s children.

This is what actually happened.

Kassandra and her women are clustered at the foot of the statue. Great Athena stares unblinkingly over their heads.

More Greek soldiers clatter into the temple, into this inner room, this domos. Their echoes reverberate off the marble, but no matter how much noise they are making as they enter, they fall silent in the presence of the goddess.

Nothing happens for a long time. From where they stand, they cannot see me. But they can see Kassandra and the other women. They can see the statue and the temple treasures. They can see what they have come for.

Only the presence of the goddess holds them back.

What will they do?

One woman steps forward. From her air of authority, I would say this might be Theano, priestess of Athena and daughter of a king. She is royal in her own right. Years ago, she and her husband, Antenor, spoke out against the war.

She speaks now and her voice, trained for ritual and ceremony, carries effortlessly around the big space.

No one moves.

She speaks again. She gestures at Kassandra who stands like the goddess herself, brilliant red hair blazing in the lamplight. For the first time, I see her face clearly. She is indeed beautiful, but it is an intense, a heart-breaking beauty. I once stood close to Mary Stuart and she too had that same air of tragic destiny.

Kassandra lifts her chin defiantly at their scrutiny but does not, even for one second, let go of Athena’s foot.

For that is the law. The law of sanctuary. And it applies to everyone. From the lowest slave in the land to the king himself. So long as she can touch the goddess, Kassandra is under her protection. That is the law.

Except today. There is no law today. Today, many things will change for ever.

There is still silence in the great Temple. Finally, Ajax jerks his head. I know Theano is spared. Legend tells us that she and her husband sail away with Aeneas and the Palladium.

Not everyone is so lucky. At this moment, Priam is being hacked to pieces in the Temple of Zeus. The baby, Astyanax, is being torn from his mother and hurled from the walls. Hector is already dead. I had no knowledge of the fate of Paris.

But Theano is spared.

Not so Kassandra.

She watches the other women trail from the Temple. Only Theano looks back and then she too is gone. From Troy and History.

Kassandra is alone.

I know what will happen now. As does she. As does everyone here. I wish there was something I could do. But I can’t. I can’t do anything. I don’t even want to watch. I remember again that shared moment on the walls. When she looked at me.

Ajax walks slowly forward and speaks to her. Some sort of command.

She laughs at him. Defying him.

He cannot afford to lose face.

He steps forward again, knots his hand in her hair and pulls.

His men gasp.

Such sacrilege in the presence of the goddess.

She tightens her grip on the statue.

He pulls. Her head is wrenched back. I can see the tendons in her neck, but she will not let go.

He seizes her hair with his other hand as well. Now he pulls really hard. Her scalp tightens. Slowly, her left hand begins to slip. And then her right.

Still no word is spoken. The only sound is Ajax’s harsh breathing. Both Kassandra’s hands are slowly sliding off Athena’s smooth feet.

And then … then … she turns her head the few inches she can manage and looks at me.

Straight at me.

Again.

Again, I can’t look away. She speaks. In
English …

‘
I see you,

Golden-eyed girl.

Watcher of time’s brave pageant.

Beloved of Kleio.

Weep for your dreams

For today they die.

Your heart will grow cold.

And as the leaves fall

The golden-eyed girl

Will leave this world.

Never to return.’

As she says the last words, her hands slide away and she is no longer under the protection of the goddess.

Who does nothing to prevent this outrage. This sacrilege to her temple. Which is typical of any bloody god you care to name. It doesn’t matter whether it’s the small, local gods who live in the hollow tree outside your village: the ones who knew you, your mother, and your mother’s mother back to the beginning of time. Or the big, male, sky gods with their intolerance and cruelty. All gods are the same. They’re big on the worshipping and the ceremonies and the imposing buildings, but when you really need them – they’re never there.

Athena certainly wasn’t. All right, she later drove Ajax mad for his desecration, but where was she when Kassandra needed her? Where was Apollo, who loved her? Where were any of them?

I crouched in my dark corner as Kassandra’s words reverberated around my head. Her curse was that no one ever believed her. But I believed her. Today, she finally had a believer. She would go on to foresee both her own death and that of Agamemnon – and still no one would ever believe her. Only me.

Ajax dragged her outside. Even he wasn’t prepared to go that far inside a temple. Her screams went on for a very long time.

His men started to strip the temple.

I was undecided. Stay or go?

No one had seen me yet. Maybe they would miss me completely.

A small man with bad skin and reeking of onions and goats found me. He wandered over to take a leak and tripped over me.

Thanks again, Athena.

I was very careful to make no trouble. Not to resist. Not to give them any excuse. Our instructions are always very clear. Keep quiet. Keep your head down and your mouth shut and wait to be rescued.

They shoved us outside, along with the other temple goods and a few other women, all as dishevelled and coved in brick dust as I was.

Kassandra, naked, was being pulled across the square towards the gate. Greedy Agamemnon would claim her for himself. It would be his undoing.

In my ear, Markham said, ‘Max? What’s happening?’

I carefully reached up and tapped my ear. A sign I couldn’t talk.

‘Are you in trouble?’

Tap.

‘OK. Hang on. We’ll get you.’

The soldiers lined us up, clearly making their choice. Ajax however, despite having had his, was in no mood for anyone else to get theirs and shouted irritably at them. An angry, red scratch showed on one cheek and he kept touching it. He couldn’t leave it alone. He looked unsettled and angry. What had Kassandra said to him? Or had the seeds of his madness had already been sewn?

I heard Guthrie’s voice in my ear. ‘Are you still in the citadel?’

Tap.

‘Just keep your head down, Max. Do not get into any trouble. We’ll get you. Just stay safe. I mean it. You’ve got form.’

The temple goods were piled in the courtyard, along with other spoils looted from nearby buildings. Ajax cast it only a cursory glance and us women not at all. In fairness, we were a pretty ropey-looking lot – dishevelled, bloody, and so covered in dust it was practically impossible to tell we were women at all, let alone pick out the pretty ones.

Time passed. The heap of treasure grew larger – to Ajax’s obvious satisfaction. More women were added to our group, which was good. Always try to get lost in the crowd. Some of them wrapped their arms around their bodies, rocking and keening.

With my own safety assured – at least for the time being – I turned my attention to the rest of my team. I tapped my ear again.

‘Max? What’s the problem? We’re on our way.’

I hugged myself, rocked, and began to wail. ‘Report.’

‘Everyone is safe. We have casualties. Some serious but not life threatening. Three and Five have jumped with the wounded. Black is prepping Six. Markham, Ritter, and I are getting to you.’

‘No. Bottleneck. They’ll take us to the ships. Pick me up there.’

‘Unacceptable.’

I knew what he meant. I might not make it to the ships.

‘An order, Major.’

He paused, but I was right. It made no sense at all for them to fight their way up here, snatch me up and then fight their way back again to the pods. Let the Greeks get me down there and they could just grab me as I passed.

‘Understood.’

We sat there all day in the hot sun. The occasional aftershock brought more walls down, but we were safe enough in the middle of the square. I hunched my shoulders and made sure I stayed behind everyone else. At first, I tried to watch what was going on around me. I even considered activating my little recorder, but that was just asking for trouble. I stowed it carefully away in my hidden pocket because the last thing I wanted was for some future archaeologist to dig up a three and a half thousand-year-old, state of the art, digital 3D recorder with my initials illegally scratched on the bottom.

As I say, at first I tried to watch, but as the hours passed the sights and sounds of so many people dying were just too much. The old, the sick, the wounded, anyone they didn’t like the look of were just executed on the spot. A quick spear thrust, and down they went into the blood-soaked dust. The streets echoed to the screams of the terrified and the dying.

I did as the other women did. I drew my stole across my face and apparently gave myself up to despair.

They moved us as the afternoon thought about becoming evening. The stifling heat had not let up for one second. I was parched, and, when the moment came, not at all sure I could get my stiff legs to work.

A couple of pokes with the butt end of a spear convinced me that I could.

I said softly, ‘We’re on the move.’

A voice said, ‘We’re ready.’

And off we went.

The trouble began at what was left of the Dardanian Gate.

I was at the rear and couldn’t see clearly, but, as we approached the gate, the leading women suddenly broke their silence and set up a keening wail that lifted the hairs on my arms. Other women took up the cry. I craned my neck to see what was going on.