If the men began to believe this, it would be the end of everything we had struggled for. But the days passed and if on the one hand Pyrrhus’ presence had given the army the strength and desire to stay in the fight and bring the war to a close, on the other hand our lack of success was reinforcing their fear that not even the formidable energy of the son of Achilles could win the war.
What was worse, Pyrrhus was impossible to control. He tolerated no discipline, and would often attack alone at the head of his Myrmidons, who would have followed him straight to the Underworld, had he ordered them to. One night, he even decided to scale the walls of Troy alone and bare-handed, risking a fall that would have shattered all his bones. He came close to succeeding. But if there was one thing he couldn’t bear it was failure; he became hateful and aggressive with all of us, even his closest comrades. I began to ask myself whether the idea that I’d had all those years ago when I’d sailed to Scyros at the head of my men and my ships, still shy of Troy, had been the right one.
I became convinced that somehow I had to find a solution. Athena had given me the strength to fight on the front line alongside the greatest warriors, but above all she had given me a mind capable of meditating, reflecting and generating new ideas. What idea could I possibly come up with? Even at night, when I was sleeping, my mind sought a solution. Very often when I woke in the morning, I felt convinced that I’d found a way. My heart filled with joy until the plan vanished along with the fog of sleep.
Time passed.
One evening at the beginning of autumn, weary from a long day of combat and disgusted at the senseless ferocity of Pyrrhus and the macabre trophies he insisted on carrying back from the battlefield, sad over Ajax’s death, the thought of which never abandoned me, I found a place on the seashore where I could sit and listen to the timeless voice of the waves coming in. It lulled me, calmed the chaos in my heart and allowed me to think clearly. I was waiting for the moon to appear for my daily appointment with Penelope. I knew in that moment she would think of me and I would think of her.
I heard a voice: ‘Wanax Odysseus . . .’
‘Eumelus.’
He sat down next to me. He hadn’t even taken off his armour yet; I could smell his sweat and hear his heart beating in its daily struggle against death. He seemed hard to me, as if he were carved in wood, and the grey evening light made him look very pale.
‘Do you still think of your parents?’ he asked me.
‘Always.’
‘Mentor? Do you think of him sometimes?’
‘As if I’d just seen him yesterday.’
As he was talking I noticed that he’d slipped his hand into the belt at his waist. He pulled something out.
‘This? Do you remember this?’
I smiled incredulously: he was turning in his hand the little horse I’d sculpted in wood so many years before and given to him so he’d know he could trust me.
‘You still have that! I can’t believe it,’ I said.
‘It’s one of the most precious things I have. It’s my good luck charm.’
‘It’s only a wooden trinket.’
‘Yes, but inside this wooden horse is the heart of the king of Ithaca, Odysseus, the thinker of many thoughts. My friend. What were you thinking about, wanax?’
I took the little horse from his hands and turned it over in my own.
‘I was thinking . . .’ I said, ‘I was thinking it’s time to go home.’
Eumelus gave me a perplexed look. ‘Yes, of course. But not before we’ve accomplished what we set out to do,’ he said.
‘Not before then,’ I said.
Eumelus’ horses, unyoked, had come looking for him.
‘They’re used to me feeding them from my hands,’ he said, and went off after them.
I was overcome by a strange anxiety and I felt a chill. It wasn’t the wind. It was the same feeling I’d had the night I’d slept at my grandfather Autolykos’ hunting cottage. I knew what it meant.
‘Where are you?’ I said, looking around to see her.
‘Here,’ said a voice inside of me. ‘Here, in your heart.’
That same night I let Agamemnon know that I needed to talk to him, and that he should convene a restricted council with Nestor and, afterwards, with the camp’s master blacksmith and craftsman, a Locrian named Epeius.
‘What I’m telling you here tonight,’ I began, ‘must remain secret. I am about to reveal to you how we can win the war in a short time.’ Agamemnon and Nestor started. ‘How much time depends on what Epeius will tell us. The real plan will only be known to the three of us; we’ll ask Epeius if he is capable of making what we require, but we won’t let him know the real reason we need it.
‘Listen, then. We will build a gigantic horse of wood, so big that it will have an internal cavity large enough to hold thirty men, whom I will choose personally, one by one. They will only be informed on the night we execute the plan.
‘First, we will spread the rumour that we’re going home because the city of Troy is unassailable and because the gods are against us, and that we are building a votive gift, a horse, an animal sacred to Poseidon, to propitiate the blue god and win his favour for our sea crossing. When Epeius’ horse is ready, we will weigh anchor, but not to return home. The fleet will hide behind the island of Tenedos, where a few of our men will climb to the highest peak and wait for a signal.
‘We will leave the horse on the beach, along with a man whose hands are tied behind his back: one of my men, a trusted, very clever friend. His name is Sinon. When the Trojans come out from behind their walls and find him there, he’ll say that he’s a fugitive; that he ran from us because we wanted to sacrifice him to the marine gods, and he’ll ask them for exile and protection. In exchange, he will tell them about the horse, explaining that it is a powerful votive gift for Poseidon, built to guarantee our safe return. He will tell them that our plan is to cross the sea, to join up with another, even bigger army, which is already waiting for us, and then to return to Troy in the spring.
‘Nothing will be left to fortune. Every moment of the plan will be carefully thought out and executed. Nothing of what we are about to do can fail. From now on, I, and only I, will do all the thinking; you two must cast thoughts of this plan from your heads so that the gods who oppose us cannot see them. At this moment, I am sure that none of them are listening to us . . . and so I’ll succeed in tricking them as well. All of them, except one.’
A long silence followed. More of amazement, it seemed to me, than disbelief. Things had to proceed at once, and so I called in Epeius, telling him about our plan for a votive gift and exhorting him to speak with no one about it, although I knew that after the first two or three queries, at most, he would give in. That evening in the council of the three kings he swore repeatedly that for no reason in the world would he let slip the merest suggestion of what he was being asked to do. I explained the characteristics of the gigantic gift to Poseidon that he would have the honour of building. A horse thirty feet tall, thirty-seven feet long, twelve feet wide. The tail and mane would be in real horsehair, artfully intertwined, and the horse would be set upon a platform.
‘I think you are the only man capable of building such an object,’ I flattered him. ‘Am I wrong?’
‘No, wanax, you are not wrong. I will build it exactly as you have described it to me.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘A month, wanax.’
‘I can give you ten days. Not one more. And all the men you need.’
He hesitated an instant, then replied: ‘Ten days, wanax Odysseus.’
33
BEFORE SUNSET ON THE TENTH DAY, Epeius appeared in front of my tent and gestured for me to follow him. I had been careful until then not to show too much interest in the work in progress, so no one could attribute the building of the colossal horse to me and thus suspect a trick. The Trojans had also been watching closely, albeit from afar. We could see them crowding the tops of the walls, swelling in nu
mber as the figure took shape. The dimensions of the horse were growing day by day, as scaffolding made of ash poles and boards sawn from poplars was added to support its bulk. It had to look like we were racing against time. And the onset of bad weather.
It was late in the autumn by then and Orion had already started to decline in the night sky. The air was already getting cooler and more humid.
During the entire time that the works were proceeding, we never went out in battle order and the Trojans did not challenge us. They never came out of the city armed, although we noticed them creeping close at times to get a better look at what was going on. They were careful to stay beyond the reach of our archers, although our men had been instructed not to strike out in any way. In the meantime, Epeius had, as I had predicted, let slip that we would be returning to Achaia for the winter and a certain air of joy had spread through the camp, subtle and secret, as though no one dared to believe it.
Halfway through the job I had told Epeius that an offering for Poseidon, a hidden tribute, would be placed inside the horse and that I would be giving him details just before the work was completed. The opening in the horse’s belly would be prepared by him alone; he would have to work at night with no help from his men. One day, I mixed in with the crowd and made my way as far as the scaffolding that still covered the construction. After checking to make sure I was alone, I slipped underneath. There was no clue to any opening, no interruption in the intertwined beams, boards, branches and ropes which held it together. The horse’s secret was invisible and undetectable. A perfect job.
I looked into Epeius’ eyes without saying a word. A slight nod of my head was enough for him to understand that I approved. He responded in the same way.
During the entire time that the horse was being built, not one of the kings or princes came to visit me, except for Eumelus.
‘You’ve always liked horses,’ he observed, ‘but you are the only one of the kings who doesn’t have a war chariot. Why is that?’
‘There are no roads in Ithaca, you know that; only the trails that the goats use. Our chariots are our ships: on the sea we’re the best.’
‘In such a short time,’ he went on, ‘a horse so small that it fits inside my hand has generated an enormous one that could contain many men. Am I right, Odysseus?’
I didn’t answer.
‘So I am right. You have to include me then, because I’m the only one who has understood what you are thinking.’
‘No. I want you to get back safe and sound to your parents in Pherai. You’ll enter the city with the others when it comes time to attack. Until that moment, speak with no one, not even the air. A god who is hostile to us might hear you.’
‘He couldn’t hear us here?’
‘Here, in my tent, there’s a constant noise that human ears cannot hear, that covers our voices and even our thoughts.’
‘When?’
‘The day after tomorrow. On the night of the new moon.’
He nodded and returned to his tent, walking along the seashore. Before leaving he opened his hand, smiled, and showed me the little horse I’d given him as a boy.
That same night I had Agamemnon convene a very unusual council of the kings. One by one they were to come to my tent, unescorted, without arms, armour or insignia, with their heads covered and wrapped in a cloak up to their eyes. Some before sunset, others after, the rest in the middle of the night. I was dubious up to the last moment as to whether I should include Pyrrhus; after much thought, I decided that he, too, should be summoned to my tent.
When everyone had arrived, Agamemnon spoke, admitting that the rumours about our returning to Achaia for the winter in order to recruit new warriors had been spread deliberately. The truth was entirely different, and I would be the one to reveal it to them. He then nodded to me.
‘Friends, courageous comrades, for years and years Zeus has held his hand over the city of Troy so that it would not fall, despite the strength, prowess and sacrifice of great heroes like Patroclus, Achilles, Ajax son of Telamon and many, many others who now lie under the soil of this land. The city still does not seem on the verge of falling, even now. Every attempt we make is frustrated and not even the valour of the son of Achilles has been enough to breach the Skaian Gate. The time has come to put an end to this endless war before it destroys us. The only way is to conquer Troy. And that is just what we’ll do . . .
‘Now!’
My listeners, except for Agamemnon and Nestor, looked at each other in disbelief. Some of them uttered cutting comments, others laughed in scorn.
‘Tomorrow, as soon as evening falls, our entire fleet will put to sea. Our ships will move away from the coast and then, under cover of darkness, will drop anchor behind the nearby island of Tenedos and remain there, hidden. As the ships go out, I will stay here, in this tent, along with those whose names I will now call . . .
‘Menelaus Atreides, for you this war has been fought, for you the moment so long awaited has come: you will win Troy and avenge your honour! Ajax of Locris, bronze lightning bolt, you who are the swiftest after Achilles: you will be the first to reach the highest point of the city. Diomedes of Argus, it is said that in battle you wounded Ares himself, the god of war, and I believe that, for no one can better you in hurling your mighty, massive spear, always thirsting for blood, straight at your target. Idomeneus, powerful sovereign of Crete, lord of the labyrinth, you will not lose your way even if the roads of Troy are dark and winding; you will emerge victorious and set the city ablaze. Eurymachus, your sight is as penetrating as a nocturnal predator’s, and I’ve never seen you tremble: your eyes will rend the darkness for all of us. Makahon, pupil of Asclepius, warrior surgeon, you who know so well how to restore life will inflict death! Menestheus of Athens, lord of the city which belonged to Theseus, you will show us that you are worthy of sitting on his throne. Merion . . . Sthenelus . . .’
As I called out their names, I looked intensely at their faces: they were tense, drawn, some of them seemed daunted; they had no idea yet of what they were being called upon to do. ‘. . . Thoas of Calydon, you were Achilles’ best ally; Podalirius, inseparable companion of Makahon, we’ll sorely need your arts . . . Teucer! With you the spirit of Great Ajax, your brother, will surely be present to win this war with us. Neoptolemus, known as Pyrrhus, son of Achilles: the fire that will devour the city will be redder than your flaming locks! You will attain what your father would have achieved had not a god stood in his way, for nothing less than a god could have stopped Achilles.
‘All of you will enter Troy with me, inside the horse. The horse will be transported into the city by the Trojans themselves; I can assure you that this will happen. When the horse is in place, one of our men will signal from the shore to our comrades on Tenedos. The fleet will head back again, without masts or sails, moving solely by the force of their oars. Invisible, our ships will return to Troy. We will wait for the middle of the night, when the city has finished celebrating the end of the war, and is enveloped in silence and darkness. Only then will we leave the horse, and take control of the Skaian Gate. We’ll signal from high up on the towers and we will open from the inside the doors that we’ve never been able to force from the outside. Our men will rush in and take the city by storm. And that will be the end of Troy.
‘I will have complete command over the entire operation. We will take Epeius, the builder of the horse, with us. Only he knows how to unlatch the belly of the monster. He is still unaware of this plan, but he will soon be informed. I’ve chosen you because you are the best. Your names will be remembered for centuries to come . . .
‘Who is with me, then? If you are ready to join me, stand up now!’
Pyrrhus was the first to speak, with his usual arrogance. ‘You’re talking to us as if we were about to accomplish some glorious feat, and instead it is with deceit that you propose we take the city. We’ll enter Troy in hiding, closed up in the dark like rats, and surprise the Trojans in their sleep. Is this the glory you offer u
s?’
‘Yes, it is,’ I replied. ‘A man is not made only of muscles and tendons. A man’s mind is his highest, most noble part: it is what makes us similar to the gods. And it is our most powerful weapon. You’ve been given the chance to conquer the city by fighting on the open field, Pyrrhus: it doesn’t appear to me that you’ve succeeded. I may not have the brawn of Great Ajax and I certainly don’t have the vigour of your years and the force of Achilles that lives on in your limbs.
‘You know what they call me: I’m Odysseus of the labyrinthine mind. This is my greatest strength: where your father’s arm failed my mind will succeed! But you are free to make a choice. You can enter Troy with me using this trick, because I need the best of you, and no cowards. Or you can stay with wanax Agamemnon, or even here in your own tent.’
A moment laden with uncertainty followed, until, one after another, all of those summoned got to their feet and agreed to submit to my command with immediate effect, until the moment in which the great Atreides, wanax Agamemnon himself, would stride across the crooked Skaian Gate.
WE DIDN’T meet again until dusk of the next evening. From outside we could hear the shouts of the warriors who were pushing the ships off the beach, one after another, until they filled up the whole bay. They put to sea, wrapped in darkness.
At that point Sinon, with his hands bound behind his back, bruises covering his face and body, was already in the hiding place where the Trojans would find him the next day. We left my tent to find Epeius, who, finally informed of the true plan, was waiting for us. The hatch in the horse’s belly was open, and a rope ladder was hanging from one side of the opening. One by one we climbed in, me first and then all the others. Epeius got in with us and closed the hatch, pulling up the ladder after himself. The lamp he carried created a small globe of flickering light that allowed us to exist. I took it from Epeius’ hands and inspected my men. Pyrrhus was with us: I counted him first, then all the others. For each one of them I had a word, a touch on the shoulder, a look. Then, all at once, as I got to the end, I swiftly drew my sword and put it to the throat of a man whose face was covered – he was not one of the men I had summoned. I challenged him: ‘Who are you, friend? Speak up or prepare to die!’