For the Most Beautiful (32 page)

‘This way!' Patroclus gestured to me, leading me along the edge of the open assembly-place. Soldiers were running in every direction, some in groups hurriedly arming for battle, testing their spear-tips or tightening their breastplates and greaves, others dashing to the palisade to man the battlements, hurriedly pushing bronze helmets on to their heads and clutching only a shield for protection.

‘In here!' Patroclus swung to the side and pushed me into a large shelter filled with spears, swords and round bossed shields: the weapons storehouse, guarded by four thick-set warriors with bronze breastplates. At least thirty slave-girls were already gathered inside, their faces white with fear, tunics smut-stained. Patroclus followed me and leant against a wooden beam, panting and out of breath, his shield limp on his arm. His left hand was bleeding where an arrow had grazed it. ‘You should be safe here,' he said briefly, and turned to leave.

I caught him by the arm, and when I spoke, my voice was quiet. ‘Patroclus,' I said. ‘You saved my life. I thank you for it.'

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘I could not leave you unprotected. If only because of Achilles' love for you.'

Again he turned to go, but I held on to his arm. ‘Wait,' I said. ‘I have to tell you. What I said last night – it was wrong of me. I did not mean it, it was not true. I only said it out of anger.'

Still he did not look at me. ‘Briseis, I must go,' he said.

‘Very well. But you do believe me, don't you?'

He looked away. ‘Guards!'

The door swung open.

‘Farewell, Briseis,' he said. And then there was nothing but the sound of the storm of arrows and the flaming ships before the door closed again, and Patroclus was gone.

My thighs were aching from holding myself upright on the horse and my back was throbbing with pain by the time the sun was rising through the trees. The path I had found several hours before wound back and forth through the dense sun-dappled woods that carpeted the plain all the way to Troy along the course of the River Scamander. I was close to exhaustion, but it was good to feel the warmth of the sun on my face. It was easier to stay awake now that the sky was growing brighter, the faintest tinge of rose brushing the tips of the trees.

Suddenly I saw a flash of pale stone on the horizon, between the close-set branches of the oaks. I stopped the horse. If I squinted, I could almost make out …

I urged the mare into a canter, and we raced along the path through the woods, all thoughts of fatigue forgotten. There was no mistaking it now. Those familiar well-hewn stones, the towers ringing the high walls, the gentle slope of the plain down towards the sea …

It was Troy.

I felt my heart leap with excitement. As we neared the city and the walls loomed overhead, I slowed the mare to a walk, gazing up at the towers and trying to see where I had come out. I spotted a stone marker of the god Apulunas close by the walls, planted into the ground, and then I saw them. The South Gates, huge as ever, soaring up into the sky.

I dismounted from the mare and tied her reins around the trunk of an olive tree. I was thinking fast now. The guards would never allow an escaped prisoner of the Greeks into the city without interrogation, and the battlements were bristling with Trojan bowmen. And what would happen if more Greek soldiers were scouting the forest, or there were Greeks upon the plain?

I leant against an old oak tree nearby, nursing my sore muscles and peering desperately around the thick trunk towards the gates. A large group of peasants was emerging from the wide forest path that led from Mount Ida to the city, dragging a couple of ox-wagons full of barley husks, mud-covered onions and green sprigs of bitter vetch. It was my best hope.

Pulling the hood of my travelling cloak over my head, I hurried along the edge of the forest towards them, careful to keep to the shade of the trees, looking around me all the time for the first sign of Greek warriors. The peasants were walking quickly, their faces set in grim determination, scanning the plain with quick, darting, fearful glances, their children running alongside them, whispering to each other. As I approached, the tallest man saw me and drew the wagons to a halt. ‘Who's there?' he called, his voice full of fear as he drew out a cudgel. ‘Stop! Don't come any closer!'

Slowly, very carefully, I took a step towards them. ‘Please, I mean you no harm,' I said.

The man raised his eyebrows and looked at the others.

‘A woman! And a Trojan!' he said, in a thick country accent. He peered at me. ‘What are you doing here, out on the plain, alone? Don't you know how dangerous it is, lady?'

‘I have been travelling and I – I lost my way. I need to get into Troy.'

The other peasants started muttering to each other.

The man frowned at me. ‘We're the only ones allowed into the city by express permission of the king's son, Prince Aeneas. No one's been through the gates in or out for weeks now – not since Prince Troilus, the gods bless him, was killed.'

I tried not to betray a flicker of emotion. ‘And you? Why are you allowed in, then?'

He rubbed his chin. ‘Prince Aeneas sent word to us farmers to come, as the city's running out of food. The Greek camp is under attack, and no one knows when there'll be another chance to travel safely across the plain.'

‘Will you let me come into the city with you?'

The peasants exchanged looks between themselves.

‘I don't know, girl. How do we know you aren't a Greek spy?'

‘How many Greeks do you think speak with a Trojan accent?' I asked, a little impatiently. We were losing time, and the longer we stayed upon the plain the more chance the Greeks would have of finding and capturing us.

The farmer shrugged. ‘They might.'

I sighed. Slowly, I reached up and lowered my hood. My golden hair tumbled out over my shoulders, and I swept aside my cloak to show the white robes of a priestess-initiate that I had been made to wear in Larisa. ‘I am the daughter of the High Priest of Apulunas, Polydamas, and companion to the Princess Cassandra. And I have a horse.' I gestured to the shadowy olive tree a hundred paces away where the grey mare was tied. ‘You are welcome to her on your return. I shall not need her.' I looked him directly in the eyes. ‘I beg of you, sir, in the name of the King and Queen of Troy, will you let me accompany you?'

The farmer considered me. Then he made a gruff sound in his throat. ‘We've heard of Polydamas.' He exchanged a glance with a woman who stood beside him – she must have been his wife. ‘And a horse tamed on the Trojan plain will sell well with the Mysians. All right, girl. We'll take you into Troy.'

I let out a sigh of relief. ‘My thanks to you,' I said. I pulled my hood back over my head and moved into the group of peasants, trying to ignore the children who were staring at me, mouths open.

The oxen swayed and plodded across the plain, the peasants striding alongside them. As we approached the gates, I gathered my cloak closer around me.

‘Business?' shouted the sentry from the tower.

The tall man squinted up. ‘Farmers from Mount Ida,' he called back quickly, clearly anxious to leave the plain. ‘Bringing more supplies to the city as the Prince Aeneas ordered.'

The sentry consulted with an official standing next to him, who pulled out a bundle of clay tablets. ‘Names?' barked the official.

‘Mesthles of Gargarus, and this here is my wife, Phegea, and my brothers, Biantes and Gyrtios,' said the farmer.

‘And those?' called the official, pointing.

‘My children,' the farmer said, without turning.

There was a long silence as the sentry scanned the official records. My mouth was dry, my heart beating a drumroll on my ribs.

‘You may enter,' said the sentry, and gave the signal to his fellow guards.

The gates to the city of Troy swung open.

As soon as the wagons were inside, I darted out from among the peasants with a quick word of thanks, and ran up the road, mingling with the crowds of Trojans going about their daily business. I dashed up the cobbled streets that I had run through just a few months ago with Cassandra, before everything had happened.

The marketplace was empty of stalls now. Instead, a long line of slaves wound through the open space to the door of the king's granaries, where it seemed the palace was handing out clay pots filled with barley meal and vetch that smelt something like a mixture between boiled greens and damp clothes. I darted up the steps to the upper city, two at a time, through the Dardanian Gate, with its flanked pairs of stone lions, and—

‘Cassandra!'

I had run full tilt into a slim girl with a cloud of bright auburn hair. She stared at me in my travelling cloak, her eyes wide, as if she were seeing a ghost. ‘
Krisayis!
What – what are you doing here? I thought your father ransomed you from the Greek camp to go to Larisa!' She stared at me. ‘What has
happened
to you?'

I began to answer her, but she waved her hands at me. ‘Wait,' she said, ‘it doesn't matter. You can explain later. You have to come with me to the lookout tower, now!' She paused, breathless with excitement, her eyes shining. ‘The Greek camp has been taken, Krisayis!'

I took a deep breath. ‘So I heard.'

‘Come and see!' She started away, but I pulled her back.

‘What if my father sees me, or the king?' I whispered. ‘They will send me back to Larisa!'

She waved a hand impatiently. ‘Your father has gone to Didyma to consult the oracle about the outcome of the war. He won't be back for another month at least, and
I
shall deal with my father. I shall tell him that you were not to blame for Troilus' death.'

I glanced at her, hesitating. ‘You will? You – you truly believe I was not to blame, then?'

She smiled, her blue eyes sparkling. ‘Krisayis, how could you doubt it? Of
course
I believe you! I heard the messenger from Troilus summon you to the South Gates! When I heard what had happened – the best horses from the stables, gone – I knew at once what my brother must have done. He was always hot-headed, and you never were.' She laid her hand upon my arm. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for. And I shall tell my father so myself.'

I smiled back at her, and it felt like the first time I had done so in weeks.

‘Come,' she said, and she held out her hand towards me. ‘Come
on
!'

We ran up the paved road into the familiar shade of the palace with its smoothly worked stone and brightly painted walls, through the winding corridors and myriad rooms I knew so well. We climbed the circling stair up to the top of the tower in the walls, breathless now.

And there we were once more, as we had been when Paris had brought Helen to Troy. I turned to look out towards the plain and, beyond it, the sea.

The Greek camp was on fire. One of the ships was burning, like a beacon, on the water, sending towering flames leaping up into the sky and a column of thick, dark smoke that drifted towards us.

Trojan soldiers were pouring from the Scaean Gates beneath us, west on to the plain, moving like a parade of small black ants to the Greek camp and swarming over it, climbing the wooden palisade, burning huts and tents.

Cassandra took my hand. ‘Shall we watch?'

I nodded.

Together, then, we walked over to the edge of the tower to watch the battle that would determine our fate.

Zeus is sitting on his throne on the very topmost peak of Mount Ida, chin on fist, brooding as he looks through the gap in the clouds on to the Trojan plain and watches the smoking Greek camp.