His heart lifted, and with wings on his feet he ran down the deck to where the trader waited.
‘We’ll be on the beach at Troy shortly, lad,’ Odysseus said. He was swigging mightily from a water skin, and liquid gushed down his chest. ‘I want you to stick with Bias. Once the rowers have stowed their oars, the mast will be dismantled, for we will remain in the city for a few days. Bias will show you how we take down the mast and stow it safely. Then I want you to ensure the passengers have left none of their belongings on the Penelope.’
Xander was daunted by the trader’s stern manner. ‘Yes, sir.’
For the first time in days he suddenly felt anxious. He had never been to a city. He had never been anywhere larger than his own village until Bad Luck Bay.
Where would he go once they reached Troy? Where would he stay? He wondered if he could remain on the Penelope. Surely someone would have to keep watch, he thought. ‘What do I do when we reach the city? It is said to be very big, and I do not know where to go.’
Odysseus frowned down at him. ‘Where do you go, lad? You’re a free man now.
You’ll do what sailors do. Troy is rich in fleshpots and taverns, as in everything else. Now get about your duties.’
Crestfallen, Xander reluctantly turned away. ‘Wait, boy,’ said Odysseus. Xander swung back to see the ugly king smiling at him. ‘I am jesting. You’ll stay with us until we leave. If Helikaon hasn’t come by then I’ll see you safely back in Kypros. As for seeing the city… well, you can come with me, if you have a mind. I have much business to attend to and many people to visit. Perhaps you will even meet the king.’
‘I should very much like to go with you, sir,’ said Xander eagerly.
‘Very well. Walk with Odysseus and you will breakfast with peasants and dine with kings.’ He smiled. ‘Look, there she is,’ he said. ‘The city of dreams.’
The boy peered ahead through the bank of mist but could still see nothing.
‘Look up,’ said Odysseus.
Xander looked up and fear lanced through him. Far to port and high in the sky above the mist he could see what appeared to be flames of red and gold. He saw high towers and roofs gleaming with molten bronze.
‘Is it on fire?’ he asked fearfully, an image of the flaming ship again invading his head.
Odysseus laughed. ‘Have you not heard of the city of gold, boy? What do you think they mean? Troy’s towers are roofed with bronze and the palace roof is tiled with gold. It sparkles in the sunlight like a painted trollop, luring fools and wise men alike.’
As the ship drew closer and the mist started to clear Xander got his first glimpse of the great golden walls, higher than he had ever dreamed, and stretching far into the distance. They sat atop a high plateau and he found himself craning his neck to see the gleaming towers. He could count three along the wall that faced the sea, all dwarfed by a single one to the south. The battlemented walls shone like copper and Xander could believe the entire city made of metal, shining like freshly burnished armour.
‘There must be many great warriors living there,’ he said.
‘Aye,’ said Odysseus. ‘This is horse country and the home of horse tamers. The Trojan Horse – the city’s cavalry – is legendary and its leader is the king’s eldest son Hektor. He is a great warrior.’
‘Do you know him?’ Xander wondered if he would meet the king’s warrior son.
‘I know everybody, boy. Hektor…’ He hesitated, and Xander saw that Andromache had moved up the deck to stand quietly beside him. ‘Hektor is a fine rider and charioteer, the best you will ever see.’
‘It is so beautiful,’ said the boy suddenly.
Odysseus took another deep drink from his water skin and wiped his mouth, absently brushing drops from his tunic. ‘Do you know what an illusion is, boy?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Xander uncertainly.
‘Well, an illusion is a story, a tall tale if you like. It’s a bright shining story that masks a hidden darkness. Troy is a city of illusion. Nothing is what it seems.’
Xander could now see the land stretching out around the high plateau. It was green and lush and he could make out the moving dots of horses and sheep on the low hills. Between the plateau and the sea, in front of the city walls, lay a massive town. Xander could make out individual buildings of many colours and even people walking in the streets. A wide road wound down from the great south tower of Troy, eventually reaching the beach where many hundreds of ships were pulled up and there was a riot of activity as they were loaded and unloaded.
Seeing the crowd of boats, Odysseus growled to Bias, ‘This cursed mist has made us too late to get a good berth. By Apollo’s golden balls, I’ve never seen the bay so full. We’ll be halfway up the Scamander before we can get some sand under her keel.’
But at that moment a large ship started to pull away from the beach and Bias gave a quick command to the helmsman. The Penelope turned and headed for the strand, passing close to the departing ship, a wide low cargo vessel with purple eye markings and a patchwork sail.
‘Ho, PenelopeV A powerful dark-haired man dressed in black waved from the other ship.
‘Ho, Phaistosl You’re setting sail late in the day!’ called Odysseus.
‘Kretan ships sail the seas when men of Ithaka are tucked up safe in their beds!’ shouted the man in black. ‘Sleep well, Odysseus!’
‘Good sailing, Meriones!’
The sun was passing down through the sky by the time Xander had his feet safely on the sand of Troy. He was struggling with several heavy bags. There was his own small sack of belongings, an embroidered linen bag Andromache had entrusted to him, and two large leather satchels crammed to the brim, their drawstrings straining, which Odysseus had told him to carry. He looked up at the city looming above him and wondered how he would ever carry everything up to its heights. His legs felt unsteady, his head was aching, and dizziness ebbed and flowed over him. Dropping the bags to the sand he sat down heavily.
The beach was bustling with activity and noise. Cargoes were being unloaded and piled onto carts and donkeys. Xander saw bales of bright cloth, piles of pottery packed with straw, amphorae great and small, livestock in wooden crates.
Odysseus he could see further up the beach, arguing with a thin man in a grey loincloth. Both men were shouting and gesticulating, and Xander wondered nervously if there would be more deaths. But Andromache stood quietly by the two and seemed unconcerned. She was now garbed in a long white robe, a white shawl round her shoulders, and a thin veil covering her head and face.
Finally Odysseus slapped the man on the back and turned to Xander, gesturing to him to join them. He struggled over, the leather satchels banging awkwardly against his legs. Odysseus pointed to a battered two- donkey carriage standing nearby. ‘Is that a chariot?’ asked Xander.
‘Of a sort, lad.’
The wooden carriage was two-wheeled, and there were four seats, two on either side of its U-shaped structure. The thin man stepped onto the driving platform and took up the reins.
‘In there, lad. Quickly,’ ordered Odysseus.
Xander climbed in, dragging the bags and satchels after him and piling them at his feet. Odysseus handed Andromache into the cart and she sat beside the boy.
He had never been so close to her before, and he could smell the fragrance of her hair. He awkwardly shifted away, trying not to touch her. She turned and he could see her smile at him under the veil. The small silver sea horses weighting the ends tinkled together as her head moved, and he could feel the gauzy softness of the cloth against his shoulder.
‘Whose chariot is this?’ he asked. ‘Does it belong to Odysseus? Has he bought it?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘The cart is for travellers. It will carry us up to the city.’
Xander’s head was spinning with the strangeness of it all. The sickness seemed to be passing, but he felt terribly hot, and wished he could feel a sea breeze on his face. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he brushed it away with the sleeve of his tunic.
The donkeys plodded up the winding street through the lower town, moving ever upwards towards the city walls. The boy craned his neck to see the brightly painted houses, some awash with flowers, others decorated with carved wood.
There were potters’ homes with their goods piled high on wooden racks outside, metal workers plying their
