The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

He opened his eyes to see the king’s face leaning close, a blurred grey oval in the almost complete blackness of the horse’s belly. Many others were with them, invisible in the darkness but filling Eperitus’s senses with the sound of their breathing and the sour odour of their sweat. There was the ever-present smell of smoke, too, which still clung to their clothing from the fires of the day before when they had put the Greek camp to the torch. Odysseus patted his shoulder and leaned back against the fir-planked wall, smiling reassuringly as if he were back in the comfort of his own palace on Ithaca. But if he had meant to encourage his captain, all he succeeded in doing was reminding him that they were shut up inside the wooden horse and surrounded by their enemies, awaiting the moment when they would enact the most daring gamble of the whole war. Eperitus strained his senses, but the city outside was silent and still, the celebrations finally over as its people enjoyed the deep, wine-induced sleep of a nation at peace – a treacherous, ephemeral peace that would soon be ripped apart by the clamour of returning war.

Eperitus’s stomach shifted nervously at the thought. He sat up and stretched the stiffness out of his limbs. The hard wooden bench had numbed his backside and his efforts to rub some life into each buttock earned grumbled complaints from Sthenelaus on his left and Little Ajax on his right. Looking around, he could just make out the faces of the others who had been chosen for the mission. There were only twenty-four of them – all that could fit in the cramped interior of the horse – but they were the best warriors in the Greek army, hand-picked by Odysseus and Menelaus for their courage and fighting skill. They were also the most high-ranking – every one a king, prince or commander – and if their mission failed and they were killed or captured it would mean total defeat for the Greeks. And yet victory could not be obtained without such risks. The grim-faced men inside the horse understood that; they also understood that victory would earn them immortal glory and a name that would live on long after their bodies had perished and their souls had gone down to Hades. It was this desire – the appeal of glory to every warrior – that Odysseus had used to ensure they would agree to his bold, reckless scheme.

Eperitus looked at the king’s face – eyes closed, head back – and recalled the debate aboard the beached ship, when the full extent of his plans had been laid before the key members of the Council of Kings. All understood immediately that it would bring about the end of the conflict at a stroke: either Troy would fall in a single night, or the cream of the Greek army would be caught and wiped out. But when many baulked at so high a risk – most significantly Agamemnon – Odysseus had played on their weariness with the seemingly endless war and spiced his appeal with the promise of undying fame. His smooth, persuasive voice reminded them how they had set out from their homes expecting a quick victory bathed in the blood of Trojans and rewarded with a rich bounty of gold and slaves. Instead, they had endured ten years of siege warfare, deprived of the comforts of home and the love of their families. And though at first they had tried to ignore the omen from Zeus that the war would last a decade, he warned them not to forget it again now that the prophecy had come to the end of its course. Now, Odysseus said, was not the time to shy away from risks, but to seize them and gamble everything.