Troy Page 2
Meanwhile, the royal house of Troy was about to invoke a curse of its own …
King Ilus had died and the throne of Troy was now occupied by his son LAOMEDON. Where Ilus had been devout, diligent, industrious, honourable and provident, Laomedon was greedy, ambitious, feckless, indolent and sly. His greed and ambition included a desire to develop the city of Troy still further, to give it great protective walls and ramparts, golden towers and turrets, to endow it with a splendour such as the world had never known. Rather than plan and execute this himself, Laomedon did something that might seem strange to us but which was still possible in the days when gods and men walked the earth together: he commissioned two of the Olympian gods, Apollo and Poseidon, to do the work for him. The immortals were not above a little contract labour and the pair threw themselves into the construction project with energy and skill, piling up great granite boulders and dressing them into neat blocks to create magnificent gleaming walls. In a very short time the work was done and a newly fortified Troy stood proudly on the plain of Ilium, as grand and formidable a fortress city as had ever been seen. But when Apollo and Poseidon presented themselves to Laomedon for payment he did what many householders have done since. He pursed his lips, sucked in between his teeth and shook his head.
‘No, no, no,’ he said. ‘The ramparts are bowed, I asked for straight. And the south gates aren’t what I ordered at all. And those buttresses! All wrong. Oh dear me, no, I can’t possibly pay you for shoddy work like that.’
They say a fool and his gold are soon parted, but they ought to say too that those who refuse ever to be parted from gold are the greatest fools of all.
The revenge of the cheated gods was swift and merciless. Apollo shot plague arrows over the walls and into the city; within days the sound of wailing and moaning rose up around Troy as at least one member of every family was struck down by deadly disease. At the same time Poseidon sent a huge sea monster to the Hellespont. All shipping east and west was blocked by its ferocious presence and Troy was soon starved of the trade and tolls on which its prosperity depended.
So much for the Palladium and the Luck of Troy.
The terrified citizens flocked to Laomedon’s palace to demand relief. The king turned to his priests and prophets, who were of one mind.
‘It is too late to pay the gods with the gold you owe them, majesty. There is only one way now to placate them. You must sacrifice your daughter HESIONE to the sea creature.’
Laomedon had a large number of children.fn11 While Hesione may have been his favourite, his own flesh and blood mattered more to him than his own flesh and blood (as it were), and he knew that if he ignored the instruction of the prophets, the frightened and angry Trojan populace would tear him to pieces and sacrifice Hesione anyway.
‘Make it so,’ he said with a heavy sigh and an irritated flick of the hand.
Hesione was taken and chained to a rock in the Hellespont to await her fate at the jaws of the sea beast.fn12
All Troy held its breath.
Salvation and Destruction
SEE, THE CONQUERING HERO COMES
At exactly this time, the very moment that Hesione, shackled to her rock, began to cast up prayers to Olympus for her delivery from Poseidon’s sea dragon, Heracles and his band of followers arrived at the gates of Troy on their way back from his Ninth Labour, the acquisition of the girdle of Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons.fn1
With his friends TELAMON and OICLES by his side, Heracles was ushered into the royal presence. Honoured by the visit of the great hero as the Trojan court was, Laomedon’s mind was more on his plague-ridden and beleaguered city’s depleted storerooms than on the privilege of playing host to Heracles and his followers, however famous and admired they may be. It was a small army that travelled with him, but Laomedon knew that they would all expect to be fed. Heracles alone had the appetite of a hundred men.
‘You’re very welcome, Heracles. Do you plan to honour us with your company for long?’
Heracles looked about the sombre court in some surprise. ‘Why the long faces? I had been told that Troy was the richest and happiest kingdom in the world.’
Laomedon shifted on his throne. ‘You of all men should know that we are but playthings of the gods. What is a man but the hapless victim of their petty whims and vengeful jealousies? Apollo sends us contagion and Poseidon a monster that chokes our sea channel.’
Heracles listened to Laomedon’s self-pitying and largely fabricated version of the events leading up to Hesione’s sacrifice.
‘Doesn’t seem so difficult a problem to me,’ he said. ‘All you need is for someone to clear the seaway of that dragon and save your daughter – what did you say her name was?’
‘Hesione.’fn2
‘Yes, her. The plague will blow through soon enough, I dare say, they always do …’
Laomedon was dubious. ‘That’s all very well, but what about my daughter?’
Heracles bowed. ‘The work of a moment.’
Laomedon, like everyone in the Greek world, had heard stories of the Labours that Heracles had undertaken – the cleaning out of King Augeas’s stables, the taming of the Cretan Bull, the trapping of the great tusked boar of Mount Erymanthus, the killing of the Nemean Lion and the eradication of the Lernaean Hydra … If this lumbering ox of a man with a lion skin for clothing and an oak tree for a club had in truth performed such impossible feats and defeated such terrible creatures, then he might be able to free up the Hellespont and rescue Hesione. But there was always the question of payment.
‘We’re not a rich kingdom …’ Laomedon lied.
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ said Heracles. ‘All I would ask for in return is your horses.’
‘My horses?’
‘The horses my father Zeus sent to your grandfather Tros.’
‘Ah, those horses.’ Laomedon waved a hand as if to say, ‘Is that all?’ ‘My dear man, clear the channel of that dragon and restore my daughter to me and you shall have them – yes, and their silver bridles too.’
Less than an hour later Heracles, blade between his teeth, had dived into the waters of the Hellespont and was breasting Poseidon’s rising surge. Hesione, chained to her rock, the waters now coming up to her waist, watched in astonishment as a huge, muscled man, kicking hard, headed straight towards the narrowest part of the channel, where the dragon lurked.
Laomedon, Telamon and Oicles, with the rest of Heracles’ loyal company of Greeks behind them, watched from the shore. Telamon whispered to Oicles, ‘Look at her! Did you ever see anyone more beautiful?’
While Hesione did present a most alluring sight, Oicles had eyes only for the spectacle of his leader engaging a great sea dragon in the simple, direct and violently confrontational manner for which he was celebrated. Heracles headed directly towards the creature, but far from showing fear the dragon opened its mouth wide and itself made for Heracles.
Oicles thought he had the measure of his friend and commander, but what Heracles did next was entirely unexpected. Without breaking stroke he swam straight into the monster’s open mouth. The cheers from the shoreline were choked into a shocked silence as Heracles disappeared from sight. With a gulp and a snap of its colossal jaws the creature rose up with a roar of triumph before diving down into the deeps. Hesione was saved – for the moment at least – but Heracles … Heracles was lost. Heracles the greatest, strongest, bravest and noblest of heroes swallowed whole, without so much as a struggle.
Oicles and the others should have known better, of course. From inside the animal’s stinking interior Heracles immediately busied himself hacking hard with his blade. After what seemed an eternity, scales and chunks of flesh came bobbing to the surface.fn3 Telamon was the first to see them and pointed with a great shout as the sea began to boil with blood and torn flesh. When Heracles himself at last arose with a heaving gasp, seawater streaming from him, the assembled Greeks and Trojans gave a mighty hurrah. How could they have doubted the greatest of all the heroes?
Some people are constitutionally unable to learn from their mistakes. When Heracles demanded the horses which had been agreed would constitute his payment, Laomedon sucked in through his teeth with a hiss, just as he had done with Apollo and Poseidon.
‘Oh no, no, no,’ he said shaking his head from side to side. ‘No, no, no, no, no. The agreement was that you free up the Hellespont, not leave it all clogged with blubber, blood and bones. It’ll take my men weeks to clean up the mess on the shoreline. “Free up the Hellespont” – those were your very words and those the terms. Can you deny it?’
Laomedon jutted out his beard and gave a piercing glance around the room towards the assembled courtiers and members of his elite royal guard.
‘His very words …’
‘“Free it up,” he said …’
‘As ever, your majesty is right …’
‘You see? So I can’t possibly pay you. Grateful to have Hesione back, of course, but I’m sure the dragon would have done her no harm. Could have collected her from the rock ourselves in due course, and certainly without making a mess like that.’
With a roar of indignation Heracles took up his club. The soldiers of Laomedon’s guard immediately drew their swords and formed a defensive circle around their king.
Telamon whispered urgently in Heracles’ ear. ‘Leave it, my friend. We’re outnumbered a thousand to one. Besides, you have to be back in Tiryns in time to start your Tenth and last Labour. If you’re so much as a day late you’ll forfeit everything. Nine years of effort wasted. Come on, he’s not worth it.’
Heracles lowered his club and spat at the semicircle of soldiers behind which Laomedon was cowering. ‘Your majesty hasn’t seen the last of me,’ he growled. Executing a low bow he turned and left.
‘I didn’t meant that bow,’ he explained to Telamon and Oicles as they made their way back to their ship.
‘You didn’t mean it?’
‘It was a sarcastic bow.’
‘Ah,’ said Telamon, ‘I did wonder.’
‘Dear me, how uncouth these Greeks are,’ said Laomedon, watching from the high walls of his city as Heracles’ ship hoisted her sails and glided away. ‘No manners, no style, no address …’
Hesione looked on the departing ship with some regret. She had liked Heracles and was quite certain in her mind that no matter what her father might say he truly had saved her life. His friend Telamon too was most polite and charming. Nor was he unbecoming to look at. She looked down at her lap and sighed.
HERACLES’ RETURN
King EURYSTHEUS of Mycenae and King Laomedon of Troy were cut from the same shabby cloth. Just as Laomedon had reneged on his deal with Heracles, so now did Eurystheus. On his return from Troy, Heracles undertook his Tenth (and, as he thought, final) Labour – the transportation across the Mediterranean world of the monster Geryon’s enormous herd of red cattle – only to be told by Eurystheus that two of the earlier Labours he had completed would not be counted, and that the ten must now become twelve.fn5 Thus it was that three full years passed before Heracles found himself free from bondage and able to turn his attention to the matter of King Laomedon’s treachery, a grievance that had only grown and festered with time.
He raised a volunteer army and sailed a flotilla of eighteen penteconters, fifty-oared vessels, across the Aegean. At the port of Ilium he left Oicles in charge of the ships and reserve troops and set out with Telamon and the larger part of his army to confront Laomedon. The wily Trojan king had been alerted by scouts to the arrival of the Greeks and managed to outmanoeuvre Heracles, leaving the city of Troy and wheeling round behind to attack Oicles and the ships. By the time Heracles had discovered what was happening, Oicles and the reserves had all been killed and Laomedon’s forces were safely back behind the walls of Troy, preparing themselves for a long siege.
In the end Telamon broke through one of the gates and the Greeks poured in. They hacked their way mercilessly through to the palace. Heracles, a little behind, came through the breach in the wall and heard his men cheering Telamon.
‘Surely he is the greatest warrior of them all!’
‘Hail Telamon, our general!’
This was more than Heracles could bear. One of his red mists descended. Roaring in fury, he stormed through to find and kill his deputy.
Telamon, at the head of his troops, was about to enter Laomedon’s palace when he heard the commotion behind him. Knowing his friend and the terrifying effects of his jealous rages, he immediately set about gathering stones. He was in the act of building them up, one above the other, when a panting Heracles reached him, club raised.
‘Sh!’ said Telamon. ‘Not now. I’m busy building an altar.’
‘An altar? Who to?’
‘Why, to you, of course. To Heracles. To commemorate your rescue of Hesione, your breaking of the siege of Troy, your mastery of men, monsters, and the mechanics of war.’
‘Oh.’ Heracles lowered his club. ‘Well, that’s good of you. Very good. I … yes, very considerate. Very proper.’
‘Least I could do.’
Arm in arm the pair ascended the steps of the royal palace of Troy.
The slaughter that followed was terrible. Laomedon, his wife and all their sons were killed – that is to say, all their sons but the youngest, whose name was PODARCES. His salvation came about in unusual fashion.
Heracles, his club and sword dripping with the blood of half the royal line of Troy, found himself in Hesione’s bedchamber. The princess was kneeling on the floor. She spoke very calmly.
‘Take my life, so that I may join my father and my brothers.’
Heracles was in the act of complying with her wishes when Telamon came into the room. ‘No! Not Hesione!’
Heracles turned in some surprise. ‘Why not?’
‘You saved her life once. Why take it now? Besides, she is beautiful.’
Heracles understood. ‘Take her. She’s yours to do with as you please.’
‘If she will have me,’ said Telamon, ‘I will take her back home, to Salamis, to be my bride.’
‘But you have a wife,’ said Heracles.
Just then a sound from under the bed caught his ear.
‘Come out, come out!’ he called, stabbing there with his sword.
A young boy emerged, covered in dust. He rose up to what full dignified height he could manage.
‘If I must die, then I do so willingly as a proud prince of Troy,’ he said, and then ruined the noble effect with a sneeze.
‘How many sons did the man have?’ said Heracles, raising the sword once more.
Hesione cried out and pulled at Telamon’s arm. ‘Not Podarces! He’s so young. Please, Lord Heracles, I beg you.’
Heracles was not to be persuaded. ‘He may be young, but he is his father’s son. A harmless boy can soon grow into a powerful enemy.’
‘Let me buy his freedom,’ urged Hesione. ‘I have a veil of gold tissue that they say was once the property of Aphrodite herself. I offer it to you in return for my brother’s life and freedom.’
Heracles was not impressed. ‘I can take it anyway. All of Troy is mine by right of conquest.’
‘With respect, lord, you will never find it. It is lodged in a secret hiding place.’
Telamon nudged Heracles. ‘Worth at least taking a look, don’t you think?’
Heracles grunted his assent and Hesione went over to a tall, intricately carved cabinet that stood beside the bed. Her fingers released a hidden catch at the cabinet’s rear and a drawer slid out from the side. She drew from it a length of gold tissue and passed it to Heracles.
‘Its value cannot be estimated.’
Heracles examined the veil. It was marvellous how the material flowed almost like water through his fingers. He put an enormous hand on the boy’s shoulder.
‘Wel
l, young Podarces, you are lucky that your sister loves you,’ he said, and tucked the veil into his belt. ‘And your sister is lucky that my friend Telamon seems to love her.’
Heracles and his forces left Troy a ruin. The ships of the Trojan navy were commandeered and loaded with all the treasure the Greeks could fit into the holds. Hesione, carried aboard by Telamon, looked back towards the city of her birth. Smoke rose up everywhere, the walls were breached in a dozen places. Troy, once so fine and strong, had been reduced to broken stones and smouldering ashes.
Inside the city, the Trojans picked their way over the corpses and rubble. Their attention was drawn to the sight of a youth, barely more than a boy, standing outside the temple of the Palladium, which had at least been spared. Surely, that was young Prince Podarces?
‘Citizens of Troy,’ the boy shouted. ‘Do not despair!’
‘How come he’s still alive?’
‘I heard he hid under his sister’s bed.’
‘Princess Hesione bought his freedom.’
‘He was bought?’
‘For the price of a golden veil.’
‘Bought!’
‘Yes,’ cried Podarces, ‘I was bought. You may say it was my sister, you may say it was the gods. There is a reason for all things. I, Podarces, of the blood of Tros and Ilus, tell you this. Troy will rise again. We will build her up so that she is finer, richer, stronger and greater than she ever was before. Greater than any city in the world in all mortal history.’
Despite his youth, and the dirt and dust that clung to him, the Trojans could not fail to be impressed by the strength and conviction that rang in his voice.
‘I am not ashamed that my sister bought my freedom,’ he went on. ‘It may be that time will prove me worth the expense. I prophesy that, in buying me, Hesione ransomed Troy itself. For I am Troy. As I grow to manhood so Troy will grow to greatness.’