She gasped. ‘Hektor, are you out of your mind? Does meeting Achilles mean more to you than Troy? – than me? – than our son?’

‘Some things are for men’s hearts only. Astyanax would understand better.’

‘Astyanax is a little boy. Since the day of his birth his eyes and ears have been filled with war. He sees the soldiers drilling, he rides beside his father in a magnificent war car at the head of an army parade – he’s completely deluded! But he’s never seen the field after a real battle is over, has he?’

‘Our son doesn’t shirk any part of war!’

‘Our son is nine years old! Nor will I allow him to turn into one of these hardheaded, coldblooded warriors Troy has bred out of your generation!’

‘You go too far, madam,’ I said in tones of ice. ‘As well that you won’t have any say in Astyanax’s future education. The moment I return from the field victorious I’m going to take him off you and give him into the care of men.’

‘Do that and I’ll kill you myself!’ she snarled.

‘Try, and you’ll find yourself dead!’

Her answer was to burst into loud tears.

I was too angry to touch her or seek any kind of reconciliation, so I spent the rest of the night listening to her frenzied weeping, unable to soften my heart. The mother of my son had indicated that she would rather raise him to be a cissy than a warrior.

In the grey twilight before dawn I rose from the bed to stand beside it and look down on her; she lay with her face to the wall, refused to face me. My armour lay ready. Andromache forgotten as my excitement rose, I clapped my hands. The slaves came, put me into my padded shift, laced on my boots, fitted the greaves over them and buckled them on. I swallowed down the desperate eagerness I always felt before combat as the slaves went on to dress me in the reinforced leather kilt, the cuirass, the arm guards, the forearm braces and the sweat leathers for wrists and brow. My helmet was put into my hand, my baldric looped over my left shoulder to hold my sword on my right hip; finally they slung my huge, wasp-waisted shield over my right shoulder by its sliding cord and settled it along my left side. One servant gave me my club, another assisted me to tuck my helmet beneath my right forearm. I was ready.

‘Andromache, I’m going,’ I said, my tone unforgiving.

But she lay without moving, her face turned to the wall.

The corridors shuddered, the marble floors echoed hollow to the sounds of bronze and hobnails; I felt the noise of my coming spread before me like a wave. Those not going to the battle came out to cheer me as I walked, men falling into place behind me at each door. Our boots assaulted the flags, sparks flew under the impact of bronze-tipped heels, and in the distance we could hear the drums and horns. Ahead now was the great courtyard, beyond it the Citadel gates.

Helen was waiting in the portico. I stopped, nodding to the others to go on without me.

‘Good luck, brother-in-law,’ she said.

‘How can you wish me luck when I fight your own countrymen?’

‘I have no country, Hektor.’

‘Home is always home.’

‘Hektor, never underestimate a Greek!’ She stepped back a little, seeming surprised at her words. ‘There, I’ve given you better advice than you deserve.’

‘Greeks are like any other race of men.’

‘Are they?’ Her green eyes were like jewels. ‘I can’t agree. I’d rather a Trojan for my enemy than a Greek.’

‘It’s a straight, open fight. We’re going to win it.’

‘Maybe. But have you stopped to ask yourself why Agamemnon should create so much fuss over one woman when he has hundreds?’

‘The most important thing is that Agamemnon did make a fuss. The why is immaterial.’

‘I think the why is everything. Never underestimate Greek cunning. Above all, never underestimate Odysseus.’

‘Pah! He’s a figment of the imagination!’

‘So he’d have you think. Whereas I know him better.’

She turned on her heel and went inside. There was no sign of Paris. Well, he’d be watching, not participating.

Seventy-five thousand infantrymen and ten thousand chariots waited for me, rank on rank along the side streets and smaller squares leading to the Skaian Gate. Within the Skaian Square itself waited the first detachment of cavalry, my own charioteers. Their shouts rang like thunder when I appeared, lifting my club high to salute them. I mounted my car and took time to insert my feet carefully into the wicker stirrups which took the lurch of travel, especially at a gallop. As I did so my eyes swept over those thousands of purple-plumed helmets; the glitter of bronze was blood and rose in the long gold sun, the gate towered above me.

Whips cracked. The oxen harnessed to the great boulder supporting the Skaian Gate bellowed in anguish as they bent their heads to the task. The ditch was already oiled and fatted; the beasts drove their noses almost to the ground. Very slowly the gate opened, squealing and roaring as the stone slid, halting, along the bottom of the ditch; the door itself grew smaller and the expanse of sky and plain between the battlements grew wider. Then the noise which was the opening of the Skaian Gate for the first time in ten years was drowned out by the scream of joy ripping from the throats of thousands of Trojan soldiers.

As the troops began to move down towards the square the wheels of my chariot began to rotate; I was through, I was onto the plain with my charioteers behind me. The wind probed my face, birds flew in the pale vault of the sky, my horses pricked up their ears and stretched out their slender legs in a gallop as my driver, Kebriones, wound the reins about his waist and began to practise the leans and lunges he used to control the team. We were going into battle! This was true freedom!

Half a league from the Skaian Gate I drew up and turned to direct my troops, making the front a straight line with chariots in the first rank; the Royal Guard of ten thousand Trojan foot and a thousand war cars formed the centre of my van. All was done neatly and quickly, without panic or confusion.

When everything was in order, I turned to look at the foreign wall grown across the plain from river to river, cutting off the Greek beach. The causeways at each end of the wall flashed with a million points of fire as the invaders poured out onto the plain. I gave my spear to Kebriones and fitted the helmet on my head, shaking back its plume of scarlet horsehair. My eyes met those of Deiphobos next to me in the line, and one by one I told them off as far as I could see down the one-league front. My cousin Aineas was in command of the left flank, King Sarpedon of the right. I led the van.

The Greeks came closer and closer, the sun on their armour increasing in brightness; I strained to see who would be drawn up opposite me, wondering if it would be Agamemnon himself, or Ajax, or some other among their champions. My heart slowed because it wouldn’t be Achilles. Then I looked down our line again and jumped in shock. Paris was there! He stood with his precious bow and quiver at the head of the portion of the Royal Guard which had been allocated to him somewhere back in the mists of time. I wondered what wiles Helen had used to lure him out of the safety of his apartments.

24

NARRATED BY

Nestor

I said a little prayer to the Cloud Gatherer; though I had fought in more campaigns than any other living man, I had never faced an army like Troy’s. Nor had Greece ever spawned an army like Agamemnon’s. My eyes lifted to the gauzy, lofty peaks of distant Ida and I wondered if all the Gods had forsaken Olympos to perch atop it and watch the struggle. This was well worthy of their interest: war on a scale never dreamed of before by mere mortals – or by the Gods, who fought only intimate little wars among their limited ranks. Nor (if they had collected on Ida to watch) would they be allied; everyone knew that Apollo, Aphrodite, Artemis and that crew were violently for Troy, while Zeus, Poseidon, Here and Pallas Athene were for Greece. It was anybody’s guess whereabouts Ares Lord of War stood, for though it had been the Greeks who spread his worship far and wide, his secret girlfriend Aphrodite was all for Troy. Hephaistos, her husband, was (rather naturally) on Greece’s side. Handy for us, since he looked after the smelting of metals and so forth; our artificers had some divine guidance.