The Hittite - Ben Bova [32]
I stood up, too.
“Polydamas,” Hector called, “conduct this herald to the king. Aeneas, spread the word that we will not attack until King Priam has considered the latest peace offer from Agamemnon.”
And suddenly I understood the subtlety of Odysseos. The Trojans will not attack the Achaian camp as long as I am dickering with their king. That will give Agamemnon and all the others a day’s respite from battle, at least. A chance to rest, bind their wounds, perhaps even convince Achilles to come back to the fight. Odysseos had sent an expendable hero, me— a man that Hector would recognize and respect, yet not a man important to the Achaian strength— into the Trojan camp in a crafty move to gain a day’s recuperation from the morning’s disaster.
Marveling at Odysseos’ cunning, I followed the Trojan nobleman called Polydamas through the moonlit night, across the scattered campfires dotting the plain and up to the walls of Troy.
18
I entered the besieged city of Troy in the dead of night. The moon was sinking toward the sea; it was so dark I could see practically nothing. The city wall loomed above me like a threatening shadow. I could see feeble lanterns by the gate as we passed a massive old oak tree, tossing and sighing in the night breeze, leaning heavily, bent by the incessant wind of Ilios.
To approach the gate we had to follow a road that led along the high wall. Very sound construction: troops attempting to storm the gate would have to go along the base of the wall, where defenders from above could fire arrows, stones, boiling water on them. Just before the gate a second curtain wall extended on the other side of the road, so attackers would be vulnerable to fire from both sides, as well as straight ahead, above the gate itself.
The gate was built of heavy oak, wide enough for two chariots to pass through side by side. It was slightly ajar and seemed only lightly defended at this hour of the night. Virtually the entire Trojan force was encamped down by the beach, I realized. A trio of teenagers were sitting by the open gateway, wearing neither armor nor helmets. Their shields and long spears rested against the stone wall. A few more stood on the battlements above, visible in the flickering of a fire they had going to keep themselves warm up there.
Inside, a broad packed-earth street meandered between buildings that seemed no more than two stories tall. The moon’s fading light only made the shadows of their shuttered fronts seem deeper and darker. No one was stirring at this time of night along the main street or in the black alleyways leading off it, not even a cat.
My impression was that Troy was much smaller than Hattusas. Then I remembered that Hattusas was in ruin and ashes. Was that the fate that awaited this city?
Polydamas was not a wordy fellow. Unlike the Achaians, he spoke to me only when it was necessary. In almost total silence he led me to a low-roofed building and into a tiny room lit by the fluttering yellowblue flame of a small copper oil lamp sitting on a wooden stool next to a narrow bed, covered by a rough woolen blanket. The only other furniture in the room was a chest made of cedarwood, its front intricately carved.
“You will be summoned to the king’s presence in the morning,” said Polydamas, his longest speech of the night. With not another word he left me, closing the wooden door softly behind him.
And bolting it.
With nothing better to do I undressed, pulled back the scratchy blanket, and sat out on the bed. It was springy: a thin mattress of feathers atop a webbing of ropes. Reaching under it, I found a chamber pot. After using it, I stretched out and quickly fell asleep.
I dreamed of my dying father again, and of Hattusas burning as drunken gangs of looters raged through its streets while I did nothing, nothing. Aniti was in my dream, but she was nothing more than a shadow, featureless, like a fragile, feeble wraith, already dead and in Hades.
I was jolted awake by the sound of the door bolt