Some
speculate as to what might have happened had a single event in history occurred
differently. In my estimation, the drama
I will chronicle in this tome is one of those events. Had our greatest king made a different
decision while in the grip of grief, who is to say whether our precious city
would even still stand, let alone have become the preeminent power of its day.
All
children are taught of our triumph in the Greek war, or as it is more
dramatically known, the War of a Thousand Ships. The pair of brothers may have come for
different reasons, one for his forlorn queen, one for conquest, but their goal
was the same – the destruction of our city and the removal of our influence
across the Aegean.
My name
is Hyram, and of all the stories I’ve told, this was our most dangerous
hour. Thanks be to the gods that wisdom
prevailed over folly.
----------
Sand nestled
between the toes of young Prince Paris as he watched the sun rise beyond the
great city of Troy. He turned to see a
sight not in evidence in many years – the ocean was devoid of Greek ships and
their warriors. The only thing that
remained was the idol before them.
“What do
you make of this?” King Priam asked of Herodotus, his chief counsel.
Herodotus
stroked his beard as he gazed into the eyes of the wooden beast. “An offering to Poseidon,” he said after a
moment. “Something for the God of the
Sea to admire and perhaps grant them favor on their return voyage.”
Archeron,
Priam’s chief military commander following the death of Prince Hector,
guffawed. “They need his protection
after the shellacking we gave them. With
so many Greek dead, if they do not get safe passage home, they won’t have an
army left to protect their cities. Were
some event to befall them, it might provide us great opportunity to finally
remove the Greek threat once and for all.”
“We’ve
never waged an aggressive war,” Priam said.
“Yes, we’ve fought brutally against the foes of Troy, but only while
attacked. We haven’t crossed the sea to
pursue our enemies.”
“Yet we
were attacked first here,” Archeron argued.
“We’ve taken war to those who showed the folly of striking first. The cities of Greece struck first. The only difference here is in the distance
we have to travel for vengeance.”
“This
sounds premature, my old friend. After
all, we don’t know if their fleet will meet with disaster, so all of this is
speculation. The Greeks made the mistake
of crossing the sea while knowing they couldn’t breach our walls. What says we would breach their defenses,
especially if their army lives to fight us on their own soil?”
“Then we
should send scout ships to their lands to find out. Our spies can discover if they’re making new
plans for war or if they’ve decided they’ve had enough. But to sit here and rely on Agamemnon’s good
will is folly, for they will rise again like the great cracken.”
Priam
stood idle for a moment as he pondered this course. He looked over at his son – his only
remaining son - and said, “Paris, you’ve been quiet. In times such as these, I would normally have
relied on your brother for counsel, but he has given fare to the Boatman, so it
falls to you to take up his mantle. What
is your opinion on our next move?”
Paris
strode over to the giant wooden beast before them. It was easily 50 feet tall, and as he put his
hand on the coarse wood, he felt the spirit of Hector running through him. He’d never been a warrior – that burden had
fallen on his much more worthy brother – but a new sense of purpose flowed
through him in these last few days, as if the fallen prince was whispering in
his ear. Paris knew that he was now the
heir to the throne of Troy, and it buoyed him in ways he never imagined.
“Father,
Hector was a man of reason. As such, I
am striving to be a man of reason as well.”
“You
will wear your brother’s mantle well,” Priam said. Hector was dead only ten days at the hands of
Achilles, and his body returned barely a few days ago. The King hadn’t yet had time to fully mourn,
and his eyes still held tears for his son that wouldn’t fall.
“Then as
a man of reason,” Paris said, “it falls to me to ask the questions no one seems
willing to ask. Why have the Greeks
fled? They’ve suffered no catastrophic
defeat in battle. Why flee after
spending ten years on our shores without impetus to do so?”
“You
forget the mighty plague that struck them,” Herodotus noted. “The soldiers left behind showed unmistakable
signs of it. They knew Apollo cursed
them for their arrogance and fled before he claimed the lot of them.”
“So they
managed to load and set sail in the middle of the night while afflicted with
plague? That makes no sense. Even if they decided that the gods turned on
them, an army struck down with plague would require more than a night to flee,
yet they’ve vanished without so much as a rear guard in sight of our towers.”
“What
are you saying, my son?”
“This is
a trick of some kind, a ruse to get us to lower our guard. I cannot believe they’d depart so quickly
with no spoils. They’re biding their
time, waiting for us to become complacent before striking again.”
“But
then where have they gone?” Archeron asked.
“It would take more than a day’s travel to hide beyond the horizon, and
they risk death on the fierce winds of the Aegean if they sit idle.”
“Our
shoreline possesses many hidden coves, most large enough to hide a significant
portion of their fleet. We don’t have
regular patrols on this side of our city due to the security of our walls. The Greeks could have taken advantage of the
confidence we have in that security to wait and hope we would let slip our
guard.”
“But the
idle of Poseidon,” Herodotus protested.
“This is their way of ensuring safe passage home. Why leave it if they have no need?”
“I don’t
know,” Paris replied. “Whatever its
purpose, it’s not here for our benefit.”
He paused. “We should burn
it. We must throw off the shackles
they’ve tried strapping us with and they can watch their beloved offering go up
in smoke.”
The
Trojans in attendance erupted in protest.
Everyone accused Paris of going mad and inviting the wrath of the gods,
for only a fool would burn such an offering.
The
young prince waited for the uproar to die down before speaking again. “Father, let your wisdom shine through your
grief. We must destroy this idol and
double our guard against the Greeks, or we invite tragedy. If Apollo truly protects us, he will go to
Poseidon and argue on our behalf. We
risk wrath either way, but I’d rather risk it with the gods than on behalf of
complacency."
Priam
walked up beside his son and looked at him.
The boy seemed to have gained years of confidence in the short time
since his brother’s death. Priam wanted
to take this Greek idol inside the walls of Troy to mock his enemies. However, he also heard Hector in Paris’
words, and he knew his eldest son would’ve said the same.
Turning
to his counsel, he said, “Paris is correct.
We shall burn this offering and take refuge behind our walls while we
prepare for the brunt of Poseidon’s wrath, as well as that of any Greek who
lingers. We will double our patrols
facing the sea and make certain the threat is no more.”
He
nodded to one of his guards and the soldier lit a torch. Priam grabbed the torch and carried it to the
base of the idol. Although it took a
minute to dry out the wood, it finally lit.
In seconds, fire crept up the legs and engulfed the statue. Paris later swore he heard screams coming
from inside the belly of the beast, but it was hard to discern over the
crackling wood.
----------
We’ve
fought several wars with the Greeks before overrunning their cities and burning
them to ashes. Troy now stands astride
the Aegean like a colossus, and no power from here to the Alps in the west and
Caucuses in the east challenges us. We
may never know if the Greeks truly intended a trap or not, and many of my
colleagues argue that this was but a minor blip in a history of enmity with the
Greeks that lasted over two centuries, but I’ve always been drawn to this
account. It feels like there is a hidden
meaning inside and that we narrowly averted disaster.
Perhaps
we will never know.
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