“I thought that was what we wanted.”
“Save your breath for the Trojans, my friend. Let’s have a look at your hands.”
The ropes had made bleeding rashes around both his wrists. Odysseus brought a waterskin and made him drink, but they didn’t wash the wounds. Let them swell, blacken, and look as grisly as possible.
The pain would put truth into his voice.
Time was passing. The ships had already set sail, carrying the bulk of the army into hiding. The horse was ready. Odysseus needed to take his place among the warriors hiding inside.
“Wait in the swamps. At dawn’s first light, make for the city gates. If they suspect the horse, if they destroy it—and us—you may still live. They may still believe your story and spare you.”
“No—”
“If so, you must go back to Ithaca and tell Penelope I’m sorry that I could not return.”
That task, bringing news of Odysseus’s death to his wife, was more daunting than lying to a city full of Trojans.
“This will work,” Sinon said to his mentor.
Odysseus took Sinon’s face in his hands. “I will see you again inside the walls of Troy.”
“Inside the walls of Troy. Yes.”
Odysseus left him.
Sinon splashed water from the river on his face to clear blood from his nose, mouth, and beard, and to keep himself awake. The bruises and cuts would heal—Odysseus had calculated the blows to look awful without causing permanent damage. Ever an optimist. His head ached, but he didn’t dare lie down and sleep. Timing was everything. He had to be at the gates before the Trojans could make a decision about the horse. He had to be there to convince them. His tunic was spattered with dirt and blood. He certainly looked the part of an escaped sacrifice victim.
Just before dawn, he started the walk. He wanted to be sure he had enough time to reach the city. The gates looked far away.
Sunlight crossed the sky when he saw the finished horse for the first time.
Taller than the city gate, it stood like a war steed preparing for a charge, head held high, body stout. It was made of planks lashed together, darker wood making a harness, hooves, and glaring eyes. An immense sculpture, it appeared seamless. Sinon couldn’t see a trapdoor or any sign that it was hollow at all. It stood on a wheeled platform, a tempting prize to simply roll inside the walls.
The city of Troy with its great temples and palaces, all shining marble decked with gold, occupied a set of hills and dominated the plains around it. Invincible stone walls surrounded it, and for ten years, the Achaeans had thrown themselves uselessly at those walls. The morning sun rose behind it to form a halo, and cast golden light on the prize the Trojans would never be able to resist.
By the gods, this could work.
Trojans were already gathered around the horse. They’d awakened to a sight they had not seen in ten years: the beach clear of Greek boats, the camp of the Achaean army empty. The invaders had fled. The Trojans had immediately come out to explore. As if disbelieving their eyes, they had to walk the ground to convince themselves the Greeks were really gone.
A pair of soldiers on patrol found him creeping along the outer wall. “You! Greek! Hold there!”
He waited for them to catch him. They did so as brutally as he might have expected of a people who’d been under siege, throwing him to the ground, kicking him, reopening the cuts and waking the bruises Odysseus had given him. When they drew daggers, Sinon thought they would kill him right there, ruining the plan entirely. But he begged like the piteous exile he was playing, and they put their knives away. Mindless of his wounds, they bound him and dragged him to the gates, where the lords and priests of Troy waited.
Think of the story. Tell them the story.
“We found a Greek dog skulking on the beach,” one of the soldiers said, and shoved Sinon to the ground.
He struggled to his knees and got his bearings. The horse towered above, casting its morning shadow over the sand. The crowd that had gathered formed a circle around a tall man draped in a purple robe. He was old, but held himself proudly, and wore a silver band on his nearly bald head. This had to be Priam, King of the Trojans.
Sinon caught his eye. He would speak to this man alone.
He spat, scowling with hatred. “I am no Greek. Not anymore.”
Priam looked down on him. “Explain yourself.”
The story. The pain of betrayal. The wounds on his wrists. “They needed to make a sacrifice to bring fair winds for their journey. A human sacrifice of blood, since that was how they won fair winds for their departure. Odysseus—” He snarled when he said the name, as if it had a sour taste. “—has always hated me since I served his rival, Palomedes. He tricked the Greeks into murdering him, and now came his chance to kill me. He named me as the sacrifice. But I escaped. They had to sail with the tide and could not chase after me.” He gasped, short of breath, and bowed his head. ?
?My lord, you are my only hope of shelter now.”